


The Lion's Keeper

by melonnaise



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Age Difference, Akashi being Akashi, Chibi akashi cuteness, Fluff, Generation of Miracles shenanigans, Getting Together, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonnaise/pseuds/melonnaise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akashi Seijuuro is a young child and Furihata is a high school student hired as his caretaker. They part and re-meet when Akashi is graduating from Rakuzan – and Akashi is determined to never let Furihata go again. Slow burn AkaFuri. </p>
<p>Rating will move up to M in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroko no Basket or any of it's characters. If I did, they'd all be making out viciously with each other between matches in their sweaty changing rooms. Oh, the sexual tension.
> 
> A/N: This will be a slow, slow burn. Expect a lot of kawaii child!Akashi moments before Akashi actually grows up and re-meets Furihata. The rating will eventually be bumped up to M, so yes, eventually, there will be some steamy male-on-male action. But I repeat, slowwww burn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akashi Seijuuro is introduced to Furihata Kouki, Yukimaru, and tofu soup.

Akashi Seijuuro is a difficult child.

 

But not in the typical way that most children are difficult. Some children are whiny. Some crave constant attention. Some are mischievous to the point of being dangerous. But these children are not like Akashi. Akashi's problem is on a different level altogether. That is, being too smart for his age, far too perceptive than he is supposed to be, and unafraid to show it.

 

“Father?” Akashi peaks his head through the door of his father's office one day, after his father's guest had left.

 

“Yes? Come in, son. Don't hover, it's unsightly. What is the matter?”

 

“That man. Who was he?”

 

“A friend of mine, Seijuuro.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“Well,” He tilts his little head to one side, round eyes blinking up curiously at his father. “You look at him the way you look at Mama sometimes. Why?”

 

Akashi Junichiro, the head of the Akashi Clan, stares as his son for a long moment. He rests his hand on young Akashi's head gently, but firmly. His lips stretches into a strict line. “You shouldn't ask questions like that, Seijuuro.”

 

On that day, Junichiro decides that Akashi Seijuuro needs a personal caretaker. The kid is already excelling so fast some extra tutoring could be useful – make him marginally more exceptional than other boys of his age; engage him in more physical activities, maybe. Perhaps a music lesson as well. Yes, anything to keep the child occupied – his prying eyes kept away from his parents' business.

 

 

*

 

 

Three weeks later, and Akashi Seijuuro's caretaker runs crying out of the mansion, tears streaming her face, blubbering that she cannot and will not put herself through this sort of humiliation on a daily basis. Especially not by the hands of a mere _child_. Unfortunately, this is the fifth time an incident of this sort has occurred. Five caretakers, all professionals, three who are unable to deal with Akashi's criticism, and two who are fired by Akashi himself.

 

When questioned about the matter, Akashi simply says, “They are foolish. Impatient. Only here for the money. All of them.”

 

His mother, Seiko, sighs. “Is it necessary to tell that to their faces, though? You weren't planning to fire the latest one, weren't you?”

 

Akashi blinks, “Pointing out her flaws will allow her to improve. Is that not correct?”

 

Seiko looks to Junichiro, who only shrugs from behind his newspaper and tells her that they'll just keep hiring. One is bound to work out. Eventually.

 

 

*

 

One month and six caretakers later and Seiko is starting to become desperate. Her child is beginning to build up a reputation amongst the professional caretakers as a “one-week killer”, making it progressively more difficult to find someone for the job. But Junichiro insists on keeping on hiring, and Seiko eventually decides to try her luck elsewhere. If professionals cannot do the job, then maybe amateurs, someone younger, will have a different touch. It might even do her son some good to be with someone less strict – more freedom, less control.

 

The amateur presents himself in a flyer in the form of Furihata Kouki. Furihata is a local, average high school student who is looking for a part-time job. He can do a little bit of everything – a little bit of piano, a little bit of basketball, hardly a genius but smart enough to be able to tutor child of Akashi's age. He has no experience whatsoever, apart from helping his friends take care of their younger siblings. Seiko is doubtful, but she decides to give it a go either way. After all, what is the worse that could happen?

 

 

*

 

 

Akashi stares up at the taller teenager who is approaching him with unblinking red eyes.

 

“H-hello,” Furihata stutters nervously, “Akashi-kun, right?”

 

“Good afternoon,” Akashi politely responds, but offers nothing more. He is still staring, looking at the stranger up and down. He recognizes the uniform and thinks to himself that this one is younger than all the ones he's met before. Akashi wonders how long he will last.

 

“Ano, it's nice to me- uwah!” Furihata squeaks as he trips over his own feet, stumbles for a few steps, and finally comes to a stop right in front of Akashi. “G-gomenasai. How clumsy of me...” Furihata apologizes, scratching the back of his head.

 

Akashi lifts his chin and blinks up at him, saying nothing.

 

“Ah-! How could I not remember?” Furihata surprises Akashi when suddenly the teenager plops down and sits cross-legged in front of him. With Akashi standing and Furihata sitting, their eye levels are much better matched. Furihata smiles sheepishly at him, “Heeh, sorry about that. You were craning your neck to look at me – that probably wasn't very nice, ne? Now you can just look straight at me. Is this better?”

 

Akashi stares at him, then slowly nods. “Yes. This is better.”

 

Furihata beams at him, and Akashi wonders why he is so happy.

 

“W-well, it's nice to finally meet you Akashi-kun. My name is Furihata Kouki,” He offers his hand to Akashi for a handshake.

 

Akashi looks down at the hand, back up at Furihata's smile, then back down to the hand before he carefully places his own much-smaller palm into Furihata's own. “Akashi Seijuuro. It's a pleasure to meet you too.”

 

“You're awfully polite, aren't you, Akashi-kun?” Furihata shakes his hand gently. He remains holding his hand even after the handshake is done.

 

“Am I?” Akashi tilts his head.

 

“Yes. Akashi-kun is very well-mannered. Especially for your age.”

 

“Hm,” Akashi considers this. None of the previous caretakers have ever told him this before. They only scolded him for being arrogant and verbally hostile. “Thank you. And you can call me Seijuuro. My parents are Akashi as well, it is confusing.”

 

“Hehh? That's a good point. Alright, 'Seijuuro-kun' it is, then?”

 

“Mm. That is fine, Furihata-san.”

 

“Oh, you can just call me Kouki. Don't worry about being formal. We'll be seeing each other a lot after today, ne?”

 

Akashi looks at Furihata's gentle smile – genuine, for a change – at their still-connected hands, Furihata's palm warm around his fingers, and decides in that moment that he wouldn't mind seeing this one around.

 

“Alright, Kouki.”

 

 

*

 

 

One month later, and everyone in the Akashi household is amazed to see the brown-haired boy named Furihata Kouki still appearing at their front gates every other weekday, three times a week. He'd lasted much longer than any caretaker ever did thus far, and the most surprising of all, Akashi seems to have taken to him.

 

The young master is sitting by the piano today, small fingers playing Canon in D in perfect tempo. He stops playing when he hears the door open, turning his head around.

 

“Kouki.” Akashi nods.

 

“Good afternoon, Seijuuro-kun. You were playing beautifully just now.”

 

“Thank you.” Akashi shuffles over on his seat to allow space for Furihata to sit next to him. “You said we were going to move onto a new song, so I wanted to perfect this one.”

 

Furihata smiles and shakes his head, partly in awe. Akashi, in the one month that he had known him, is proving to be an unbelievably eloquent child who apparently can do no wrong. Everything he touches turns to gold. The piano is no exception. “That's very good, Seijuuro-kun! Well done. Ah-! Maybe I should give you a reward for practicing so well?”

 

“A reward?” Akashi tilts his head, curious.

 

“Yes, yes. A reward. Is there anything you want in particular?”

 

“A horse.” Akashi says with no hesitation.

 

“A- a horse?” Furihata repeats, incredulously. He shouldn't be surprised. Not really. Not after having spent one month with the Akashi family. He smiles dryly at Akashi, “I'm sorry, but that's a little bit, um, far-fetched for me. But m-maybe... if you really want one, you should ask Junichiro-san?”

 

“I already did. Father said he would buy me one if I finish reading those books by the end of this week.” Akashi points with his short, chubby index finger of a child to a neat pile of English books beside the piano. Furihata recognizes a few titles – all by the same author, Roald Dahl.

 

“But... that's a _lot_ of books.” Furihata counts – there are six books in total. Even Furihata would struggle to finish all of those in a week.

 

“Father says it will improve my English.”

 

“T-that is true. But still. Seijuuro-kun, make sure you're not pushing yourself too hard, okay? You're so young, you should spend more time having fun. I'm sure Junichiro-san will compromise.”

 

Akashi stares at him like Furihata had just said something utterly ridiculous. “Father does not compromise.”

 

“Oh. Um...”

 

“And I want the horse.”

 

“Right, but-”

 

“I have already finished three books and am halfway through Matilda.” Akashi's eyes narrow in a way that is so un-childlike that Furihata shivers. “I will _not_ fail.”

 

“A-alright then, Seijuuro-kun,” Furihata is forced to give in, resting a hand on Akashi's back. When the child seems to have relaxed a bit, Furihata changes the subject. “So, since the horse is already on its way, what about a different reward from me?”

 

“A different reward.”

 

“Yes. How about, hmm...” Furihata taps his lips in thought, “Something you like to eat?”

 

“Something I like to eat.” Akashi has a habit of repeating words, Furihata notices. He finds it rather adorable – Akashi reminds Furihata of a little red parrot. This habit is also partly the reason why Akashi's vocabulary is extraordinarily large. That, and being ordered by his father to read through a certain amount of pages in the Dictionary each day. Akashi often recites new words he's learnt to Furihata, some words even beyond the high schooler's own vocabulary. It is strange, yes, but Furihata is gradually finding that there is very little that is ordinary about the way Akashi is raised.

 

“Yes. You know, anything. Maybe sweets?”

 

Akashi scrunches his nose in distaste.

 

“Alright, no sweets then. Something savory, hm...”

 

“Savory. Not sweet.”

 

“What about... chawanmushi? No? Then, tamago dofu? Tofu soup?”

 

“Tofu soup?” Akashi perks up at that.

 

“You've never had it?”

 

“No.” He shakes his head, soft hair flowing with the motion. “But I do enjoy tofu.”

 

“Okay then, tofu soup it is. I'll ask Mama to make it and bring some over when she does, ne?”

 

“Ah. Send your Mama my thanks when you do.”

 

“Pff-” Furihata smiles and chuckles. “Will do, will do.”

 

Akashi is confused. “Did I say something funny?”

 

“Oh, no, Seijuuro-kun. It's just that you sound so adult-like and proper, it makes me feel inadequate at my age.” Furihata laughs easily.

 

“'Inadequate',” Akashi tests the word out on his tongue, before wondering aloud, “Father likes to say that.”

 

Upon hearing that, Furihata frowns a little. He sincerely hopes that the head of the Akashi family did not use such words against his young son. Unthinkingly, Furihata places a hand atop of Akashi's small head – something he has never done before – tenderly smoothing Akashi's hair. His voice is gentle as he speaks, “You know... from what I've seen, Seijuuro-kun is far beyond adequate at everything that Seijuuro-kun does. ”

 

Akashi merely blinks at him, silent for a moment as he observes Furihata. Perhaps to detect any signs of ingenuity. Perhaps to think over his words. Perhaps to just soak in the sensation of Furihata's hand in his hair. Seiko used to do this to him a lot when he was younger, much younger, but she has been refraining ever since Junichiro told her off for coddling their child too much.

 

“I think Kouki is very far from inadequate too.” Akashi says. And is surprised to find that he actually means it.

 

“Ah,” Furihata smiles, and Akashi notices the way Furihata's eyes crinkles – how they smile with him. “Thank you very much, Seijuuro-kun.”

 

Furihata rubs his head warmly a few more times after that, and Akashi discovers that he does not mind it even a little bit. In fact, quite the opposite.

 

Perhaps, sometimes, Akashi just misses being coddled.

 

 

*

 

 

One week later, Akashi Seijuuro ends up getting his horse. It is a white horse of a pure, expensive breed – of course, only the best for the Akashi heir – apparently born on a snowy day in the exact same month and year as Akashi himself.

 

“This is Yukimaru,” Akashi proudly announces to Furihata, thrusting a photo of his brand new horse into his hand. “I get to see him at the club once a week.”

 

“That's great, Seijuuro-kun!” Furihata beams, knowing that Akashi must be thrilled. The child doesn't smile very much – hardly at all, actually – but Furihata sees the corner of Akashi's lips tugging up just a little when he talks about Yukimaru.

 

Then, when Furihata presents to him his home-cooked tofu soup – the promised 'reward' - Akashi's tiny hint of a smile grew into a full-smile after the first spoonful. His deep red eyes are wide and positively sparkling, like he had just discovered one of the world's greatest treasures. Akashi finishes the whole bowl in less than ten minutes, eating and drinking everything to the very last drop. Furihata has never seen anything so charming.

 

Furihata is unable to resist. He reaches out to pet Akashi's head once again, and to his surprise, Akashi leans into the touch.

 

“Tofu soup is now my favorite food,” Akashi declares. Then, shortly after, adds, “Thank you, Kouki. This has been a good week.”

 

 

*

 

 

The first time Furihata witnesses Akashi being scolded is when Furihata is in his third month of the job and Junichiro had just found out that Akashi had been leaving out particular foods at dinner. Akashi usually either eats with his mother or eats alone whilst watching documentaries. The household maid had been questioned about Akashi's diet and made to report to Junichiro. Furihata arrives just in time to catch Junichiro's final words through Akashi's room's door. Seiko is already there in front of the room before him, and she stops Furihata, pulling him aside, silencing him with an index finger to her lips.

 

“Are you defying me, Seijuuro?”

 

“...no, Father.” Akashi's voice is quiet and small, like Furihata had never heard before.

 

“Good. Then finish that bowl before I return. Every last piece, Seijuuro. You will not be particular about food, it is a bad habit. If you are petty about something as simple as this, then what else will you be petty about later? As an Akashi, you should be faultless in all aspects of life. ”

 

“...”

 

“My orders are absolute. If you do not do as I say, you will not be allowed to go see your horse this weekend. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“...yes, I understand.”

 

The door then opens a moment later, and a very stern Akashi Junichiro steps out of the room. He eyes Furihata once, then ignores him altogether as though he is not worth the time. His eyes instead settle on Seiko, who looks like she wants to say something.

 

Junichiro shakes his head, “Not a word, Seiko. He needs to learn to be disciplined – the younger the better.”

 

“I understand that, but-”

 

Junichiro waves a hand to cut her off, “We can discuss this in my office. Seijuuro can hear us from here.” He disappears down the stairs after that. No arguments.

 

Seiko looks apologetically to Furihata, “Sorry, Furihata-kun. I'll have to leave Seijuuro in your care for now.” Then, she sighs and lowers her voice into a whisper, “I'm worried about him. He's far too controlled than any child his age should be. I fear that he's going to crumble up inside. Please, look out for him, won't you?”

 

“H-hai...” Furihata dips into a respectful bow, feeling the weight of Seiko's words heavy on his shoulders.

 

When Seiko has gone, Furihata politely knocks on Akashi's door.

 

“Who is it..?” Furihata may be imagining things, but Akashi's voice sounds strained. Wary.

 

“Seijuuro-kun, it's me.”

 

“Kouki.” There is a short pause. Then, “You can come in.”

 

Furihata finds Akashi huddled in his chair behind his desk, hugging his knees, soft chubby cheeks pressed up by his kneecaps which are peaking out from his yukata. In front of him is a bowl full of wakame seaweed. Akashi prods at the green pieces with his chopsticks with a look of mixed disgust and alarm. His eyes glance at Furihata as he enters the room, greeting him in a flat voice, “Kouki.”

 

Furihata approaches him slowly, kneeling down on the floor next to his chair. “So... I take it you don't like seaweed.”

 

Akashi shudders visibly, “I _abhor_ it.”

 

There it is. Another new word from the dictionary. Furihata figures it means something negative and doesn't dwell on it. “Wakame is pretty tasty, though. It isn't nearly half as bad as it appears to be.”

 

“It is _seaweed_ ,” Akashi cringes, “It is no different from grass, just that it is from the bottom of the sea. And it is slimy.” He shudders again, his entire little body moving with the motion.

 

“Ano... if you hate it that much you could have explained-”

 

Akashi scoffs in a way that is terrifyingly adult-like. “You think I haven't tried?”

 

Furihata falls silent.

 

“He doesn't listen.” Akashi mumbles, almost to himself. “His words are absolute.” He prods at the seaweed with more force, as though taking his frustrations out on them. Then, he abruptly stops, and spins his chair to face Furihata, eyes intense. “Is it so bad that I dislike seaweed? I eat other vegetables just fine. It is just wakame that I refuse to eat. Does that make me 'petty', Kouki?”

 

“Ah, Seijuuro-kun,” Furihata shakes his head, “People are a-allowed to have foods they dislike, you know.”

 

“Apparently not in Father's eyes.”

 

“He has... good intentions.” Intentions that Furihata will never understand, but still. “He's your father. He only wants what's best for you.”

 

“He wants what is best for 'Akashi'.”

 

“Don't think of it that way. I'm sure that's not true.” Not all true, anyways.

 

“Hn.” Akashi is back prodding at the seaweed. “He's even taking away my weekly visit with Yukimaru.”

 

Oh no. Is this Akashi sulking? Furihata has never encountered Akashi in this mood before. “Eh... a-alright. How about this-” Furihata pulls the bowl towards himself, “I'll help you eat your wakame, so you don't have to eat as much. Okay?”

 

Akashi blinks, “But Father said I have to finish it.”

 

“I won't tell. Junichiro-san will never find out.”

 

“But it defeats the purpose of this punishment. Isn't that cheating?”

 

“Seijuuro-kun's still eating the wakame anyways, it's not like I'm eating it all for you. I'm just- sharing out the burden. That's not cheating. It's... teamwork. Yeah.”

 

“Teamwork...?” Akashi looks unconvinced.

 

“Yes, teamwork. And teamwork is a good skill to have, ne?”

 

Akashi considers this – mulls it over in his head a few times. He eyes the wakame for a long while before he eventually looks back up at Furihata, cautious. “You won't tell?”

 

“You have my promise.” Furihata offers Akashi his pinky finger.

 

Akashi stares at it ridiculously like Furihata had just offered him a gecko, “I don't understand the hand gesture.”

 

“Oh-!” Of course. Of course he doesn't. “It's a pinky-promise. You link your pinky finger with mine, just like this...”

 

“And?”

 

“And we shake on it.” They shake. “And it makes the promise stronger – because pinky-promises absolutely _cannot_ be broken.”

 

“...absolutely?” Akashi stares at their connected fingers, doubtfully.

 

“Absolutely,” Furihata confirms, smiling with his whole face. “Trust me.”

 

Maybe it was Furihata's gentle smile, or the warmth of Furihata's hand, or the fact that Furihata had never been anything less than genuine with him, or Akashi is just incredibly glad he doesn't need to consume all that seaweed by himself – but Akashi suddenly realises that he does truly trust Furihata. And it is strange, because Furihata is not even of his blood, but he's beginning to feel more and more like family.

 

“...Father must never ever find out.” Akashi insists.

 

“Never ever.” Furihata shakes their pinkies again to ensure him. “This will be our little secret only. Deal, Seijuuro-kun?”

 

It took another long moment of consideration, mental lists of pros and cons, before Akashi finally, _finally_ nods once.

 

“Deal, Kouki.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, Yukimaru is canon. Also the tofu soup thing, which I think is just the cutest. The name 'Junichiro' I took from a list of names of Japanese emperors, and 'Seiko' is chosen because it's similar to Seijuuro.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the first installment. I am just head over heels for AkaFuri. Expect increasing sweetness as we go along! 
> 
> ps. This is fic is also posted on ff.net and is currently up to chapter 6. I will be updating the Ao3 version every three to four days and hopefully get chapter 7 out by the time this one catches up with the one on ff.


	2. Latch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Furihata picks Akashi up. Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer the FAQ: child!Akashi is around 6-7 years old and Furihata is about 16 when they first meet. Note that they do age as we go along the child!Akashi moments.

For ten months since he's started working as his caretaker, Furihata only ever sees Akashi exclusively in the Akashi mansion. The first time Furihata encounters him outside of the household is on a rainy day, when Furihata is heading home from school with other First-years.

 

“Eh? Seijuuro-kun??”

 

Furihata spots Akashi across the road, hiding from the rain under the shelter of a bus stop, small body huddled into a little ball on the bench. His white yukata is pulled tight around himself so that only his small red head is poking through. The boy is alone – an unusual event, because Furihata knows for a fact that Akashi is _never_ left unaccompanied outside of the mansion. One of the Akashi servants are always with him, either that or his driver.

 

Concerned, Furihata decides he should go take a look and tells his friends to go ahead without him. Then, he jogs through the rain over to the bus stop. As he approaches, he notices that Akashi's white yukata is dirty with splatters of muddy water and that the patch of fabric stretched over his small knee is stained red. Furihata speeds up.

 

“Seijuuro-kun!” Furihata immediately crouches down in front of Akashi as he reaches him, now seeing that the red stain is obviously blood. Furihata panics, fussing over the child. “A-are you okay? Seijuuro-kun, w-what happened? Why are you all alone?”

 

“...Kouki,” Akashi murmurs with wide eyes when he sees Furihata, visibly relieved. His tense body relaxes a tad as he explains, “There was a large, busy crowd and I got separated from my driver. Then it started raining, so I thought waiting here is the most logical course of action.” Akashi shuffles in his seat and winces when the yukata brushes against his legs.

 

“Are you- are you hurt?” Furihata tugs on the yukata to unveil Akashi's knee. As he predicted, it is bleeding and quite badly scraped. Furihata looks up at Akashi's face worriedly, “Your knee!”

 

“...I fell.” Akashi admits quietly, reluctantly, not meeting Furihata's eyes.

 

“Does it hurt? How long have you been sitting here, all alone?” Furihata places a hand on Akashi's head, rubbing it gently, comfortingly, as he always does.

 

“About an hour,” Akashi sniffs.

 

“Oh, Seijuuro-kun...” Furihata wraps his arms around him without a second thought. He cradles Akashi into his arms and embraces his small body – feeling even more protective when he feels how cold Akashi is.

 

Akashi is stunned. He freezes in the spot, both arms by his side, and blinks rapidly at the sudden intimacy.

 

Furihata's hand is smoothing his hair, murmuring softly, “Does it hurt? You can tell me.”

 

“It doesn't.” Akashi says immediately.

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

Furihata sighs, “You don't have to act tough, Seijuuro-kun.”

 

Akashi pauses, then shakes his head decisively, “I can't.”

 

“You can't?”

 

“I can't be _weak_.” He frowns.

 

Furihata thinks that that is probably the saddest thing he's ever heard from a child and hugs Akashi tighter. He says, firmly, “I'm not Junichiro-san.”

 

“No,” Akashi shakes his head again, with more force, eyes blazing, “Kouki is _nothing_ like Father.”

 

“T-that's right. So, there's no need for that in front of me at all,” Furihata picks up one of Akashi's small hands and places it on his biceps. He squeezes his own larger hand over Akashi's, feeling Akashi's small fingers dig into his muscles, a sheepish smile on his face. “I'm weak too, see?”

 

Akashi stares down at their connected hands, registering the information. Furihata waits patiently for his response, still holding Akashi close to him. By now, Furihata has spent enough time with Akashi to know that his thought process is unusual. Unlike most children, Akashi rarely gives a reaction straight away. Instead, he takes all the details in first, processes everything thoroughly, and _then_ act.

 

After a long moment of silence apart from the pit-pattering of raindrops, something shifts. Akashi's free arm moves to curl around Furihata's back – slowly, assiduously, as though he is doing something forbidden.

 

Then, he rests his forehead on Furihata's shoulder and mumbles into his shirt in the smallest voice. “It... hurts. A little bit.”

 

“I know, Sei-kun. You've been very brave.” Furihata coos, fingers sifting through red hair. “Now, let's take you home, ne? Everyone must be worried sick.”

 

“Okay.” Akashi's face is still buried into Furihata's shoulder, embarrassed by his earlier admission.

 

Furihata chuckles fondly and releases Akashi from his arms. He then stands to remove his raincoat before draping it over Akashi's head – the raincoat so big on the child that it envelopes him almost entirely. Furihata beams at the adorable sight. Then, he crouches down to the floor once again, but this time with his back to Akashi. “Come on, then.”

 

Akashi stares at him. “What?”

 

“Your knee is injured. It's better if I just carry you home.”

 

Akashi just continues staring. “That's not necessary. I can walk.”

 

“But walking hurts, doesn't it?” Furihata turns his head backwards to glance at him.

 

Walking does hurt. But Akashi is also taught to be independent. And this- this is so far from what his father means by 'independence', Akashi is sure. What will Junichiro say if he saw Akashi being piggybacked like some immature brat? And what will his other servants think of him? But walking does hurt. Plus, he really doesn't want his knee to start bleeding again. Akashi frowns until his two little red brows are almost tied into a knot, mentally arguing the points in his mind.

 

Furihata sees the frown and shakes his head lightly, a knowing smile on his lips, understanding exactly what the boy is thinking. He decides to take matters into his own hand and grabs for Akashi's wrists, hooking Akashi's small arms securely around his neck. After that is done, Furihata reaches behind with both hands and places one on the back of each of Akashi's thighs. Then, in one heaving movement, Furihata lifts Akashi right off the bench and straight into a piggyback. “Up we go.”

 

Akashi makes a cute tiny _squawking_ noise, both incredulous and indignant. Then, a displeased, “Kouki!”

 

Furihata only laughs and starts walking. “If it were up to Sei-kun we'd still be sitting there when the sun goes down.”

 

“That does not mean you can suddenly pick people up without their permission. That's- _rude_.” Akashi grumbles. But despite his complaints, Akashi's legs has already automatically fastened themselves firmly around Furihata's waist. Furihata takes that as enough permission from Akashi to continue carrying him.

 

The rain starts to fade as Furihata carries Akashi back to his mansion. Along the way, they talk about the books Akashi is set to read for the week. Akashi then tells Furihata about his previous visit with Yukimaru, and then recites some new words he's recently memorized from his daily Dictionary reads – 'tyranny' being his current favorite. Furihata wonders vaguely whether he should be worried about that. Akashi also manages to debate his way into receiving yet another bowl of tofu soup from Furihata, saying that it is only fair since he's been picked up unwillingly. Furihata counts this as the seventh bowl this month. Akashi is just too good at getting what he wants.

 

Five minutes away from the house, Akashi perks up his head as though he's suddenly remembered something. “'Sei-kun',” he says, “Just now, back at the bus stop, you called me 'Sei-kun'. Twice.”

 

Furihata nods, “Ah. Yes I did, didn't I?”

 

“You've never called me that before. You've always called me 'Seijuuro-kun'.” Akashi's voice is very serious.

 

“E-eh? Do you mind it? I just think it's easier to say. And it's a cute nickname.”

 

“Cute.” Akashi repeats, blinking slowly.

 

“Ano... if you don't like it I won't call you that, ne?”

 

Akashi leans his neck to look at Furihata's bashful smile. He looks at Furihata's hair, the usually fluffy brown mess now flat and damp with rain. Then, Akashi looks at Furihata's raincoat which is wrapped around himself, covering him up so sufficiently that not a single drop of water is on him.

 

Akashi shakes his head.

 

“I don't mind it at all.”

 

 

…

 

 

 

“Is that shogi?”

 

Furihata comes into Akashi's study room one day to find the boy sitting in front of a shogi board, appearing to be playing with himself. Furihata crawls over to sit next to him, watching in amazement as Akashi makes one strategic move after another.

 

“I am trying to improve so that I can win my bet with Father in a few days.” Akashi explains as he moves the final piece to end the game.

 

“A bet?”

 

“Yes. If I win, I get to an extra visit with Yukimaru this week.”

 

“And if you lose?”

 

“I won't.” Akashi says confidently as he resets the board for the next game. “I _always_ win. Even if it is Father.”

 

“I- I see,” Furihata nods, slowly. It seems to be that even after a whole year with the Akashis, the strange dynamic of the Akashi-Father-Son relationship remains a mystery to him.

 

After Akashi is done resetting the shogi pieces, he stares down at the board for a moment before he turns to look at Furihata, considering him. Eventually, he nods. “Kouki.”

 

“Yes, Sei-kun?”

 

“Play with me.” Akashi motions towards the shogi board.

 

Furihata gapes and points at himself, “E-eh? Me?”

 

Nine shogi games later and Furihata has been beaten by Akashi – a child almost ten years younger than him, less than half his age – all nine times straight. Not to mention very quickly and easily every single time as well. It should've been more embarrassing, but Furihata sort of knew this is how it is going to turn out from the beginning.

 

“You're not very good at this, Kouki.” Akashi observes as he beats Furihata in yet another game. “It's a given that I would win. But you make it too easy.”

 

Furihata can only smile dryly, scratching the back of his head, “Ehh... your level is just way too high, Sei-kun. I'm nowhere near as amazing as you are.”

 

Then, Akashi does something completely unexpected. In one striking movement, Akashi reaches over the shogi board and pinches Furihata's cheek sharply once with his small fingers.

 

“Ow-!” Furihata squeaks, because that just now actually _hurts –_ Akashi went full-force. He lifts a hand to cup his aching cheek. “W-what was that for?”

 

Akashi is glaring at him, “You always talk down about yourself. Stop it.”

 

“But it's tru- ow, ow, ow-! I give up! I'm sorry! I won't do it anymore!” Furihata quickly says, frantically waving his hands in front of himself in mercy when Akashi starts pinching his other cheek even harder than the first time.

 

“Good.” Akashi nods and retreats his hands, satisfied.

 

“Sei-kun is ruthless,” Furihata puffs out his cheeks, massaging them with his palms.

 

Akashi crosses his arms, “I dislike it when you say negative things about yourself. I dislike it when you're blind to how inestimable you are.”

 

“Inestimable?” Likely another Dictionary word of the week. Furihata tilts his head, confused.

 

“Invaluable.” Akashi says, looking straight at Furihata with his intense red eyes. “Priceless. Precious-”

 

“I- I get it!” Furihata stutters, flustered by Akashi's words. “Please, t-that's enough. Thank you, Sei-kun, really. But you think too highly of me. I'm just an average-”

 

“Do you want me to pinch you again, Kouki?” Akashi narrows his eyes.

 

Furihata instantly shakes his head, “N-no, not at all.”

 

“Good.” Akashi says, and actually smiles a little this time. But not in the same way he does when he's with Yukimaru or when he had just downed a whole bowl of tofu soup. It is a smile of one who's had a taste of victory and knows exactly how he will achieve it again.

 

And Furihata goes home thinking, for the hundredth time ever since they met, that Akashi is terrifyingly intimidating for a child. Where did he learn to narrow his eyes like that anyways? Even Furihata cannot pull that off.

 

Still, it _is_ nice to know that Akashi thinks so highly of him. Furihata smiles to himself.

 

 

…

 

 

Akashi's first proper friend arrives in the form of a green-haired boy with matching green eyes, glasses, and long lashes that will likely be the envy of every girl in the world.

 

“Midorima Shintarou.” The boy politely introduces himself to Furihata, giving him a perfectly-angled bow, not a centimeter deeper than necessary, before promptly returning to a heated chess game with Akashi.

 

Akashi tells Furihata that he had met Midorima on his first day in second grade at the same primary school. Apparently, the megane boy had caught Akashi's eye with his sharp intellect and the peculiar way he did everything with almost obsessive precision. Furihata watches them interact during the game and immediately understands why Akashi has taken a liking to him. Indeed, Midorima is very intelligent, so much so that he is almost on par with Akashi in their games. Of course, Akashi still wins every time – because _Akashi_ – but it is clear that Midorima offers him some challenge.

 

“What is that, by the way?” Furihata cannot help but notice the giant baby-pink stuffed alpaca sitting beside Midorima, the doll taller than Midorima himself.

 

“Alpacasso.” Midorima says without looking away from the chess board. “He's my lucky item for today.”

 

“Oh.” Furihata says, because that is the only response he can come up with. And ' _he'_? Furihata blinks at the little frilly ribbons tied onto the stuffed alpaca's ears doubtfully.

 

“Checkmate.” Akashi says after moving his queen piece. He turns to look at Furihata, small lips quirked in an amused expression.

 

Midorima sighs, pushes his glasses up his small nose, and turns to glare at Alpacasso as if it is all his fault.

 

 

…

 

 

“I'm not surprised that you like Midorima-kun,” Furihata says one day, after Midorima is picked up by his parents in the evening – both doctors, not to mention, big shock there – carrying back with him a basket full of rubber ducks. Midorima has been coming over to the Akashi mansion quite often and Furihata has had the privilege of seeing a strange and wide variety of 'lucky items' the green-haired megane boy brings with him each time.

 

“No?” Akashi tilts his head curiously. The two of them are sitting side by side on the couch, watching an animal planet documentary together.

 

“Not at all. He's very smart, and so is Sei-kun. Midorima-kun also doesn't speak more than necessary, which I know you like.”

 

“Hm. It is fun playing chess and shogi with him.”

 

Furihata smiles and nudges Akashi's shoulder teasingly, “It's more fun than playing against me, I'm sure.”

 

“Kouki.” Akashi turns his head away from the television screen to look at him, warningly.

 

“Uwah- don't pinch me!” Furihata raises a hand to cover his face in defense.

 

“You owe me one more bowl of tofu soup for next week, then.”

 

“Hai, hai,” Furihata nods easily, giving Akashi a playful salute before lowering his hand to pet Akashi's hair. He smiles as he thinks about how his mother now makes a huge bowl of tofu soup every week, knowing that the young master Akashi will request a serving one way or another.

 

They fall silent after that, attention on the documentary which is showing quite a graphic scene of an orca tossing and tearing apart some poor seal. Furihata is so engrossed in the images that he doesn't even notice when, half an hour later, Akashi sleepily leans his head against his shoulder.

 

“Kouki,” Akashi calls out his name softly.

 

“Ah-” Furihata's focus breaks and he turns to Akashi, raising his eyebrows when he sees the boy leaning against him, though he says nothing of it. “What is it, Sei-kun?”

 

“I do quite like Shintarou. He is a much better opponent for strategy board games than you are,” Akashi says flatly, eyes on the television screen.

 

Furihata's smile falters just the slightest bit, “Oh. O-of course, Midorima-kun is-”

 

“I haven't finished.” Akashi cuts him off mid-sentence.

 

Furihata stays quiet.

 

“Even if Shintarou is a better challenge in games,” Akashi's eyes flits up to meet Furihata's own, a dainty hand sneaking its way into Furihata's palm and intertwining their mismatched fingers. He squeezes Furihata's hand once, and continues, straight-faced, never breaking eye contact as he speaks, “Even so, I still like Kouki best.”

 

A strange warmth blooms in Furihata's chest, and he can't help the wide, bright smile that splits his face.

 

“Seijuuro-kun,” Furihata squeezes Akashi's small hand back amiably. Then, he leans over the smaller boy and plants an affectionate little kiss on top of Akashi's head. He murmurs, still smiling, “Thank you. I like Sei-kun a lot, too.”

 

Akashi stares at Furihata for a long while after that, as though he is still ruminating over what Furihata had just said and done. Until eventually, he squeezes Furihata's hand back once again and they go back to watching the documentary – now sitting slightly closer than before.

 

Furihata's concentration returns to the screen, so absorbed right back into it that he completely misses Akashi's deep red eyes glancing back to him frequently throughout the duration of the documentary, sometimes even staring at his face for full minutes.

 

Furihata doesn't see Akashi looking at their linked hands, doesn't see Akashi's eyes, doesn't see the way Akashi looks at him.

 

 

…

 

 

In their second summer together, Furihata asks for permission to take Akashi to a fireworks festival at a nearby temple.

 

Seiko is over the moon to have her little boy experience some freedom and fun like other children and tells Furihata to leave it to her to convince Junichiro. When Furihata looks uncertain about that, Seiko taps his nose with a fan. “Don't you worry about it. I am his wife for a reason.”

 

And so, on the evening of the festival day when Furihata arrives at the Akashi mansion to pick Akashi up, he is pleasantly surprised to see Akashi all dressed up and ready to go. Akashi is wearing a pure white yukata with light blue patterns, adorned with a crimson obi tied around his small waist. The color of the obi matches his hair and brings out his eyes and the hues in his plump cheeks, making Akashi look quite delightful.

 

“We match,” Akashi points out as soon as he sees Furihata.

 

“E-eh?” Furihata looks down at his own yukata and lets out an 'ahh' sound when he sees that he is wearing a light blue yukata with red patterns along with a black obi. Their outfits actually look coordinated. “Ah! That's right – what a lovely coincidence!”

 

“A lovely coincidence.” Akashi parrots, as he often does.

 

Furihata strokes Akashi's hair fondly, as he often does.

 

“Oh my, aren't you two just adorable?” Seiko appears from behind the door, holding a LOMO camera in her hands. “I need a photo of this. It's Seijuuro's first fireworks festival, after all.”

 

“Ah- I can take a photo of Seiko-san with Seijuuro-kun if you want-” Furihata starts to say.

 

Seiko cuts him off, “Don't be silly, Furihata-kun. I'm not going to the festival and I'm not dressed up. Now, be a dear and go take a photo with Seijuuro.”

 

They take a photo with Furihata crouching down to his knees next to Akashi so that they are of the same height, shoulder-to-shoulder. Akashi takes one look at the photograph and decides that he is pleased with it – so pleased that Akashi asks/demands to bring the camera with him to take more photos at the festival fair. Seiko agrees and goes to send the boys off at the front door, telling them not to be home too late and whispering to Furihata to take lots of photos of Akashi.

 

The festival is everything Akashi has read about and more. It is loud, eclectic, crowded, and so filled with energy that the atmosphere is warm around them. Akashi's round eyes survey everything around him with intrigue, whilst Furihata follows behind him quietly and enjoys seeing Akashi take everything in. It is almost like watching a wild animal being released into the jungle for the first time, the way Akashi approaches everything with equal caution and curiosity.

 

When the two of them reaches a part of the street which is particularly crowded, Furihata takes hold of Akashi's hand, leaning over to speak into his ears so that he can hear him over the crowd noise. “Wouldn't want Sei-kun getting lost in a crowd and scraping your knee again, now.”

 

Akashi stares at their hands, then stares up into Furihata's kind brown eyes illuminated by both moonlight and many faerie lights hanging around the festival, and says nothing. He does, however, bring up the camera hanging around his neck with his free hand and snaps a photo of Furihata.

 

“H-huh? I wasn't ready!” Furihata blinks rapidly, stunned by the flash.

 

“I am aware,” Akashi says, nonchalantly, as he slips the photograph into his kinchaku.

 

Furihata is half-dragged and half-tugged from store to store after that – Akashi taking full advantage of holding Furihata's hand by utilizing it as some sort of leash. Furihata can only trail behind him and take photos along the way. As it turns out, Akashi becomes particularly interested in game booths and ends up going on some sort of quest to win the biggest prize in every single game there is in the festival.

 

“Come, Kouki,” Akashi says with that determined look flashing in his eyes.

 

Furihata shakes his head resignedly, having seen that look too many times before and knowing that it is futile to stop Akashi now.

 

An hour later and, as expected, Akashi has accomplished his mission. As a result, Furihata is struggling to carry an over-sized cream-colored doll which looks suspiciously like a tofu cube, five different Pokemon masks, a bag of about a dozen mini Shogun figurines, a basketball, four water-filled plastic bags – each with one fish swimming contently inside – and, lastly, Akashi's favourite out of all his prizes: a huge fluffy white stuffed unicorn _just_ small enough for Akashi to be able to carry without having its tail drag on the floor.

 

“Chibi-Yukimaru.” Akashi entitles the unicorn with a satisfied nod.

 

Fortunately, a servant from the Akashi household comes to take all of Akashi's winnings off Furihata and back to the mansion before the fireworks display actually begins. Furihata then finds himself and Akashi a perfect little spot far away from the crowd where they can sit and watch the fireworks on a river bank. Akashi comments that the grass makes him itchy, so Furihata lets Akashi climb into his cross-legged-lap and sit there for the duration of the display.

 

“Beautiful,” Akashi remarks after a particularly fancy explosion went off in the sky, sending multiple spirals in all directions. He shuffles in Furihata's lap and leans back against Furihata's torso to get more comfortable.

 

“Isn't it?” Furihata hums, lifting a hand to touch Akashi's soft hair absentmindedly.

 

Akashi lets him, and a gentle silence forms between them. The fireworks are still going off all the time, but the booms and the crackles sound distant now – like someone has turned down the volume on a video even though the pictures are still moving. Instead, their breaths, which are usually inaudible, sound even louder than the explosions going on before them. But it isn't uncomfortable, not at all.

 

By the time the display has ended, Akashi has already fallen fast asleep snuggled up to Furihata's chest.

 

Furihata chuckles at the adorable sight, before nudging Akashi gently, whispering, “Sei-kun, it's time to go home...”

 

Akashi's eyes flutter open slowly, like a butterfly testing its wings, and gaze up at Furihata, slightly perplexed. “Kouki?” He lifts his hands to rub at his eyes. “The fireworks ended?”

 

“Yes, just a few minutes ago. Shall we head back? Seiko-san is waiting for you.”

 

“Very well.” Akashi nods and wraps his arms around Furihata's neck. He then rests his head snugly upon Furihata's shoulder, closing his eyes.

 

“H-huh?” Furihata blinks, confused.

 

“I'm sleepy. I give you permission to carry me back home.” Akashi says in an authoritative voice, without opening his eyes. And just like that, the boy's breathing slows again and he slips straight back into sleep. Just like that. It is almost like Akashi fully expects Furihata to comply to his demand without any question.

 

Which is fair enough, because that is exactly what Furihata does.

 

“Ah, really, Sei-kun,” Furihata sighs even though he is smiling and his tone is clearly fond. He lifts Akashi up into his arms, a task which is becoming increasingly difficult as the days go by and Akashi grows both taller and heavier, and carries him in a reverse piggyback – their fronts facing each other, Akashi's legs wrapped around Furihata's waist and Furihata supporting Akashi's weight by hooking an arm under him.

 

Halfway back to the mansion, Akashi wakes up. However, he remains silent, not alerting the other. Instead, Akashi peeks open one eye to see Furihata carrying him back home, _exactly_ as he expected. A wicked, satisfied little grin spreads across Akashi's lips.

 

Of course. Akashi is always right, after all.

 

Akashi decides to say nothing the rest of the way, even though he is fully awake. Partly because Akashi gets a strange thrill every time he tricks Furihata; partly because Akashi simply enjoys being held in Furihata's arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support for this fic so far! Happy to see people are enjoying it :)


	3. Never Gonna Leave This Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akashi sees Furihata's tears, and doesn't.

Furihata is in trouble.

 

“Where were you last Friday?”

 

Akashi isn't even looking at him and Furihata already feels chills all over his skin.

 

In over two years that Furihata has spent with Akashi, Furihata has never missed a day without telling Akashi beforehand. He will always turn up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening without fail – and if not, then Akashi would've been informed of his absence at least two days prior.

 

But this past Friday, Furihata just _disappeared_. There were no warnings, not even the slightest hint of one, nothing; until half an hour past their usual meeting time when the Akashi household received a phone call telling them that Furihata would not be coming. Akashi, who had been waiting by the piano with newly-printed Yiruma scores, had crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes dangerously when he heard the news. He was not impressed. _At all._ How _dare,_ Kouki.

 

Which is why on Monday, when Furihata finally shows up, Akashi doesn't spare him a glance. Not even one single look since Furihata has stepped through the door. Akashi's eyes are fixated on an open book on his desk, refusing to acknowledge Furihata's presence with anything but his voice.

 

“So? Where were you?” Akashi's voice is flat, toneless, disinterested as he flips a page of the book with one precise movement of his index finger.

 

“U-um, I'm really sorry about that, Seijuuro-kun,” Furihata dips his body in a small bow, “I was really sick last Friday so I couldn't come see you.”

 

Akashi's eyes slowly flit up to look at him. “You were... sick?”

 

“Y-yes, with the flu – and I didn't want to pass it to Sei-kun, too, you see.”

 

A very reasonable explanation. Which, honestly, Akashi rather expected because, of course, Furihata wouldn't just skip out on him without good reason. However, it being a good reason also means that Akashi can't really be mad at Furihata now, either. Hence, Akashi is left hanging in a strange limbo of still feeling quite annoyed that Furihata didn't come see him, whilst on the other hand, feeling like he doesn't really have a legitimate reason to _be_ annoyed. After all, part of the reason Furihata didn't turn up was for Akashi's own health and safety. Also, can he really blame Furihata for being unwell? It's not like Furihata _wanted_ to get the flu. Being petulant about the entire ordeal is hardly appropriate.

 

And yet, Akashi is petulant.

 

He closes his book and crosses his arms, “I sat by the piano for thirty minutes waiting for your arrival.”

 

“Ah- I'm really very sorry about that! I s-should've asked Mama to call earlier.” Furihata bows deeper, guiltily.

 

“Yes, you should have.”

 

“Ano... I'll make it up to you?” Furihata suggests, hopeful. In his mind, he is already picturing a huge pot of tofu soup and figuring how he's going to bring it over.

 

Akashi uncrosses his arms, a satisfied look on his unsmiling face. “Very well. You'll stay over tonight.”

 

“Oka- e-eh?” Furihata blinks rapidly. This, he did not expect. “Tonight?”

 

“Yes, tonight. To make up for the time you missed last Friday.”

 

“For the time I missed?”

 

“Yes,” Akashi frowns. “I believe I am speaking clearly. Is there a problem, Kouki?”

 

Furihata scratches his head uncertainly, “Um- but I have to ask Mama first, tomorrow is a school day...”

 

“Then call her.”

 

“O-okay. But, Sei-kun, your parents-”

 

“They won't mind.” He says with unwavering confidence.

 

“And, um, w-where will I sleep?”

 

“My bedroom.” Akashi says, like it's the most obvious thing.

 

“Wha- huh?” Furihata is gaping like a goldfish.

 

Akashi sighs. “My bedroom, Kouki. You're making me repeat myself an awful lot today.”

 

“I- I'm sorry,” Furihata murmurs, still not quite grasping the whole idea of this sudden surprise sleepover. Even though Furihata spends a lot of time with Akashi, he has never actually spent an entire night with him – at the Akashi mansion or otherwise. That is not the issue here, though. Furihata is perfectly comfortable spending extra time with Akashi; the only thing that bothers him is that he may be disturbing or troubling the Akashi household.

 

“Don't concern yourself over irrelevant matters,” Akashi says when he sees Furihata fidgeting – it is almost like Akashi can read his mind. “Call your Mama. I will talk to her and explain the situation.”

 

“A-alright,” Furihata simply does as he's told. He has long since gotten used to taking orders from this little redheaded child who is less than half his age and size. It doesn't even feel unnatural anymore – and if Furihata is honest, it never really felt unnatural from the beginning. Some people just have that commanding air about them; those who are born to lead. Add to that a dangerously sharp mind with an impeccable ability to read people and you get one very intimidating Akashi Seijuuro.

 

It is only expected that Akashi gets what he wants. Always.

 

Thus, Furihata is not at all surprised when his mother is more than happy to let him stay over after only a few minutes of conversation with Akashi. Furihata can almost hear his mother's heart melting for 'young master Akashi', the little charmer prattling off until Mrs Furihata is literally offering to make him his favorite tofu soup everyday. Furihata makes a note to warn his mother not to spoil Akashi too much. Lord knows Akashi already gets plenty of that from just about everyone, Furihata included.

 

 

…

 

 

Akashi is the type of child who stares a lot.

 

To be fair, Akashi probably doesn't mean to stare. It is likely that Akashi just likes observing things in detail, which is why he looks at things for extended periods of time. Unfortunately, the boy was born with these large, round, deep crimson eyes which are so intense his mere looks become fixated, soul-piercing stares. Furihata is used to them to a certain extent – partly because he's oblivious to them more often than not – but sometimes, it's really hard to ignore.

 

Especially when Akashi is sitting right in front of him, their faces only a stretch of a hand away from each other, those demonic eyes boring right into him.

 

“Kouki looks different in pajamas.”

 

“Eh? D-do I?”

 

They were both sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing each other. In Furihata's hand is a small towel which he is using to wipe Akashi's still-damp hair from the shower.

 

Akashi nods, “You look softer.”

 

“Softer?”

 

“Milder. It is difficult to explain.”

 

Akashi can most likely spend the whole ten minutes discussing with Furihata about how his hair looks fluffier right after it's been washed; how Furihata's face seem brighter and yet his eyes seem larger and deeper in the moonlight; how Furihata's skin, more exposed now in just a plain t-shirt and boxers than Akashi has ever seen before, is unexpectedly quite smooth and supple for someone who plays sports. The only things not so soft about Furihata's flesh are the tiny little hardened patches of skin on his palm.

 

Akashi grabs hold of one of Furihata's wrist and pulls his hand towards him for closer inspection. Gingerly, he runs his fingertip over a spot, his eyes flitting up to Furihata curiously.

 

“Calluses,” Furihata explains, and continues with a beaming smile. “I got them from basketball practices.”

 

Akashi blinks, “You seem proud.”

 

“I am. They're almost like- battle scars. Evidence that I've worked hard.”

 

“How unnecessarily cruel for a sport to ruin your hands like this.” Akashi says, frowning down at Furihata's palm.

 

Furihata only chuckles, “I'm not a girl. I don't need to keep my hands soft for some guy to hold.”

 

“You can keep them soft for me, then.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Now it's Furihata's turn to stare at Akashi, not really understanding what the boy meant by that. He can't possibly mean what Furihata is thinking, right? Despite all his quirks making him seem much more mature than his age, Akashi is still only a child. Considering that, it's unlikely that he would-

 

“Kouki. My hair is dry enough.” Akashi suddenly says, interrupting Furihata's thoughts.

 

“Ah- that's right. Are you sleepy, Sei-kun? It's past your bedtime, we should turn off the lights.”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Furihata switches off the lights, instantly swallowing the room in darkness. Furihata fumbles his way back to the bed before slipping under the duvet next to Akashi. Akashi's bed is king-sized – of course it is – and easily accommodates two people. Furihata had offered to sleep on the floor earlier in the night but Akashi simply told him not to be ridiculous and that his bed is perfectly suitable for fitting two people comfortably.

 

“It would be more of a hassle to get out a futon,” Akashi had said – and Furihata had no more arguments to make after that.

 

As soon as Furihata settles under the duvet, Akashi rolls towards him and lies on his side right next to him, close enough that they'll touch if either one moves, but no skin contact is actually made. Not yet.

 

“You smell good.” Akashi comments, his little nose twitching like a bunny.

 

“Eh? Thank you. I just used Sei-kun's soap and shampoo, though.”

 

“It's not the same on you.”

 

“Really?” Furihata tugs up his own t-shirt to take a sniff. He can't smell anything at all. “Hm. I wonder.”

 

“What?”

 

“One second-”

 

What happens next occurs really quickly, a matter of seconds, but to Akashi it feels like minutes – every minuscule moment stretching out.

 

Furihata edges closer and touches the back of Akashi's head with one hand, before he leans over and buries the tip of his nose in Akashi's hair. He inhales, slowly, before he retreats with a satisfied hum.

 

“Hmm. I think Sei-kun smells much nicer.”

 

Akashi is as still as stone. Completely unmoving. If the room is just the slightest bit lighter then Furihata will have seen Akashi's red eyes wide and bewildered – unblinking as he lay there, actually properly staring at Furihata, as motionless as a doll.

 

“Sei-kun?” Furihata calls out softly, curiously, when Akashi goes silent. “Have you fallen asleep already?”

 

Akashi remains quiet, though he does move.

 

“Eh..?” Furihata blinks, surprised when he feels a soft body curling up against him.

 

“I'm still awake.” Akashi mumbles on Furihata's shirt.

 

Furihata cannot help the wide, delightful smile that pops up on his face knowing that Akashi has moved closer to him intentionally. Generally, it's already quite cute when children do these kinds of things – but it is that much more adorable when someone like _Akashi_ does it. Akashi – the genius child, the perfectionist, the soon-to-be prodigy – _that_ Akashi Seijuuro is snuggling up to him, the ever-ordinary Furihata Kouki, out of all people. And it makes Furihata feel like it is a privilege, an honor of some sort, to be holding Akashi like this – it makes Furihata feel oddly _special_.

 

“Sei-kun can be quite sweet, too, ne?” Furihata giggles, giddy as he wraps Akashi in closer, folding the smaller boy right into himself. “ _Kawaii_.”

 

“ _Kouki_.” Akashi spikes a hand straight up like a spear to Furihata's face, locking in on his cheek and pinching it hard.

 

“Uwah-! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Furihata says quickly, though an amused grin remains on his face. He is lucky it is dark or else Akashi will likely pinch him until the grin is wiped clear off.

 

Akashi gives Furihata's cheek one last gentle warning pat, before droping his hand and winding it around Furihata's neck instead. He is surrounded by the scent of Furihata, the warmth of his body coaxing Akashi into closing his eyes.

 

“'Night, Sei-kun,” Furihata whispers softly next to his ears.

 

Then, another gentle touch on the crown of Akashi's head which he now recognizes as Furihata's kiss.

 

“Goodnight, Kouki.”

 

But Akashi doesn't sleep. Not until a while later after Furihata's breathing had slowed, telling Akashi that he had slipped into a soundless slumber. Akashi then takes the time to observe Furihata closely, thoroughly; his features whilst he slept, lips slightly parted, the way his eyelashes get crushed by the pillow – a pity, Akashi thought. The boy then reaches his hand back up to Furihata's face again and pinches his cheek, ever so gently this time, much more a squeeze than a pinch. Despite this, Akashi's face shows no emotion; even as he runs a small thumb pad along Furihata's cheekbone.

 

Akashi never tells Furihata that he chooses to 'punish' Furihata by pinching because it gives Akashi an excuse to touch Furihata's exceptionally soft cheeks.

 

 

…

 

 

Six times Furihata sleeps over at the Akashi mansion, they wake up to a bright morning. Clear skies greeting them with the sun shining through the window. Akashi usually wakes up first, being a light sleeper, and spends the rest of the time in bed just staring at Furihata, usually still in his arms, watching him awaken as each ray of sun hits his eyelids.

 

The seventh time, it rains. And Akashi does not wake up first.

 

“Kouki...?” Akashi murmurs when he reaches out and finds an empty space next to him on the bed.

 

The lights are still off and the dark stormy skies are not helping, but Akashi easily spots Furihata. He is sitting in the corner of the room, knees hugged to his chest with his head tucked. In his hand, he is gripping his mobile phone so tightly his knuckles are white.

 

Akashi immediately knew something isn't right. He slips out of bed and waddles over in his too-long yukata, resting one small hand on Furihata's own. “Kouki? What's the matter?”

 

Furihata slowly lifts his head to look at Akashi, and the boy is taken aback by his blood-shot eyes. His eyelids are swollen and his eyes seem sunken in, surrounded by dark circles making him look like he's exhausted to the point of collapsing. Akashi has never seen Furihata looking like this. Ever.

 

“Kouki? Talk to me.” Akashi is confused and, if he is honest, feeling slightly alarmed. Last night, Furihata seemed completely fine when he tucked Akashi into bed and cuddled him – they don't talk about it, it just happens every time Furihata stays over – warm and kind as usual. The contrast between then and now is overwhelming.

 

“S-Sei-kun,” Furihata says weakly, shaking his head. His voice cracks a little as he utters the next word, “Mama...”

 

Akashi feels his heart sink. He grips Furihata's hand tighter, “Your Mama? What happened?”

 

“She- she went out to the market and- and then there was a c-car, and-” Furihata's voice is shaking. His whole body is, too.

 

Panic rises in Akashi's chest. “No.”

 

Furihata is rocking in his seat now, trying to calm the terror in himself. ”No, no. She's in h-hospital. They- they said she's going into surgery. But she should be fine. That's what they said. They said she's going to be alright, so she would be, wouldn't she? The surgery has a high chance of success, they said, so she'll be fine, right? So I should think p-positive. I shouldn't be so w-worried, ne?”

 

Akashi doesn't know what to say. He wants to say something to console Furihata, but nothing that comes up seems appropriate. He can't tell him it will be fine, because he doesn't know that. He can't tell him he understands, because Akashi's never been in the same situation before. And the last thing Akashi will say is 'it's okay', because it clearly isn't. So Akashi doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes Furihata's hands in his own and holds them firmly, squeezing his palms with his own smaller hands.

 

That one little action seems to trigger something in Furihata, and his face crumbles slowly. “Sei-kun,” His voice breaks, “I'm scared.”

 

Then, Furihata fully breaks down crying. It is one of the most heart-wrenching things Akashi has ever seen. Furihata sobs loudly – just like a child – his breaths heaving, hiccuping, hot fresh tears streaming down both his cheeks. His entire body is quivering like a leaf, the fear _physically_ shaking him. Some teardrops fall on Akashi's hands, but it doesn't bother him. Not at all.

 

Akashi can do nothing but sit there silently and hold Furihata's hands tight, squeezing them hard and clutching them close to stop them from trembling.

 

 

…

 

 

A whole week after that day, Furihata doesn't come to the Akashi mansion at all, spending time at the hospital looking after his mother. The Akashi family sends her a bouquet wishing her well. Akashi, meanwhile, drowns himself in books and even learns how to play the violin to kill time. And yet, Akashi finds himself strangely... bored. Everything just seems so _dull._

 

No one to play little tricks and pranks on. No one to tease about their not up to par shogi skills. No one bringing him his favourite tofu soup. No one to listen to him talk about absolutely anything and actually _listen_. No round brown eyes and callused but gentle hands petting his hair. No soft cheeks to pinch.

 

Akashi sighs and taps his finger on the chess board impatiently.

 

“Am I boring you?” Midorima Shintaro, sitting opposite him, inquires as he moves a chess piece.

 

“No.” Akashi replies quickly, moving his own piece.

 

“You've sighed at least five times since I've been here.”

 

“Have I? I didn't notice.”

 

“You're also playing with much less tact.”

 

Akashi narrows his eyes. “I still win.”

 

“Of course.” Midorima says easily. “But you're distracted.”

 

“Is that so,” Akashi says, disinterestedly.

 

Midorima notices that something is off but decides not to say anything more on the subject.

 

When Midorima is heading home – wearing cat paws, his lucky item – Akashi goes to send him off at the door, only to spot a certain brown-haired boy he's been wondering about all week.

 

“Kouki?”

 

Furihata waves from the gate and jogs up to him. “Sei-kun! Mama just got out of the hospital today so I came to tell you I'll be back to see you starting next week. Thank you for the flowers, too. They were beautiful, Mama really liked them.”

 

“You're welcome,” Akashi nods, “I'm glad she's well.”

 

“Me too.” Furihata smiles widely – that dumb, naïve smile that Akashi remembers well right back on his face. No more tears.

 

And Akashi feels relieved and doesn't quite understand why.

 

 

…

 

 

Akashi is generally an impeccably healthy child, so it takes Furihata almost three years to eventually encounter a sick Akashi.

 

Furihata walks into Akashi's bedroom to find him tucked under a duvet, face red, forehead sweaty. He is panting audibly, breaths coming out heavy and short. Furihata steps closer to rest the back of his hand on Akashi's forehead and frowns when he feels how hot it is. Immediately, Furihata fusses around finding a bucket of water and a small towel to start wiping Akashi's body to bring down his fever.

 

“Kouki...?” Akashi breathes out weakly when his eyes slit open tiredly and sees a fading vision of fluffy brown hair moving before him. Akashi then turns to his side to cough into his own hands, his throat croaking.

 

“Yes, Sei-kun, I'm here,” Furihata murmurs, bringing a cup of water to Akashi's lips and helping lift his head up so that he can drink it.

 

Akashi sighs after he takes one sip and lies back down, closing his eyes, allowing Furihata to continue rubbing the wet towel down his neck and arms. When Furihata reaches his hand, Akashi finds Furihata's palm and squeezes.

 

Furihata pauses momentarily, looking at Akashi with softened eyes, before squeezing his hand back firmly. A silent communication between them.

 

 

…

 

 

Seiko returns home from a business trip the evening of the following day. Junichiro is not with her, still tied up in meetings over in London. She goes to her son's bedroom first, concerned for his health, only to sigh in relief when she sees Furihata there, kneeling on the floor by Akashi's bed.

 

Furihata is just finishing changing a coolpack for Akashi. He neatly wraps a fresh one in a towel and places it on Akashi's forehead, before turns to see Seiko and dips his head in a polite bow.

 

“Furihata-kun, isn't it your day off?” Seiko closes the door behind her, coming over to sit on Akashi's bed next to her sleeping son. “How is he?”

 

“Ah, yes, ma'am. But I just can't leave Sei-kun all alone when he's this unwell.” Furihata says, pulling the duvet over Akashi's shoulder where it has slipped down. “His fever's gone down a lot from yesterday, and the coughing's improving.”

 

Seiko smiles when she sees the genuine warmth in Furihata's eyes as he watches over Akashi. “Thank you. Junichiro and I are very grateful for all your help.”

 

“Oh, no, Seiko-san. It's the least I can do, really.” Furihata shakes his head humbly.

 

“No, Furihata-kun. I mean, for everything you've done for Seijuuro. He's been a lot livelier since you came along. He even smiles more, nowadays.” Seiko giggles a little at this, walking over to Akashi to run the back of her hand on Akashi's face affectionately. “He's definitely not the easiest child to be around.”

 

“Sei-kun is delightful,” Furihata says instantly, beaming, “He's particular, but I think that's a side effect of him being so intelligent.”

 

“Yes.” She nods, “You make him happier, I think.”

 

“Ah- t-thank you very much, Seiko-san.” Furihata bows a little again, “I actually really enjoy spending time with him, too.”

 

Seiko's eyes glance from Furihata to Akashi, then back to Furihata again. “So,” she begins, slowly, her tone of voice becoming more serious. “When are you planning to go off to university, again?”

 

Furihata's smile falters, and instead, becomes a little sad.

 

“In two weeks, ma'am.”

 

“Kobe University, was it? Congratulations again.”

 

“Ah, t-thank you.”

 

Seiko turns to her son, her voice softening. “Have you told Seijuuro?”

 

Furihata shakes his head, “Ano... I planned to tell him yesterday, but with his current sickness I didn't think it was the right time.”

 

“Hm,” Seiko strokes Akashi's hair gently, careful not to wake him. “I can't imagine he'll take it well, no matter when you decide to tell him.”

 

Furihata has nothing to say to that, so he just sits there quietly.

 

“Alright, I have to go unpack,” Seiko stands up. “If you need anything, you know where to call the servants.”

 

“H-hai.”

 

Once Seiko exits through the door, the room falls silent. Furihata exhales slowly, thinking about the very near future, leaning his head back on Akashi's bed.

 

“Kobe?”

 

Akashi's throaty, quiet murmur cuts through the silence like a knife.

 

“...!” Furihata immediately turns around and gapes, eyes wide, when he sees two intense red orbs staring straight back at him. “S-Sei-kun, you were awake?”

 

“As you are aware, I'm a light sleeper.” Akashi's face is controlled, completely expressionless. “Or did you forget that with all your exciting plans for the future?”

 

Furihata rolled in his lips, “I- I was planning to tell you-”

 

“Two weeks before you leave. Yes.”

 

“I-it's not like I'll be gone forever. I'll be back for Christmas and summer and-”

 

“But you're _still leaving me-_ ” Akashi's voice goes harder, and it makes him cough. He sits up and coughs harshly into the duvet, his whole body heaving.

 

“Sei-kun...” Furihata reaches out a hand to stroke Akashi's back.

 

“ _No._ ” Akashi shrinks away from his hand violently as though he's been burned. He scoots all the way to the corner of his bed, as far away from Furihata as possible, his crimson eyes flaring.

 

Furihata doesn't try to go closer to him again. He knows better than that after seeing Akashi's eyes ablaze. Akashi is akin to a wild injured animal right now, and Furihata is the one who harmed him. He pulls his hand back to his lap, ruefully. “I'm sorry, Sei-kun.”

 

Akashi says nothing.

 

Furihata bows his head, “I promise I'll come see you every time I'm back home. And I can call, if you want, we can always talk on the phone-”

 

“Don't,” Akashi says, his eyes hard.

 

Furihata lifts his head to look at him, hoping Akashi doesn't mean what he thinks he does. “'Don't'?”

 

“Don't call. Don't come see me. If you leave me, don't bother doing any of that.”

 

“Sei-kun...” Furihata says weakly.

 

Akashi glares at Furihata one last time before he turns his entire body to face the wall, wrapped up in his duvet like a cocoon, blocking Furihata away from him.

 

“Leave, Kouki. You're dismissed.”

 

Furihata nods solemnly, knowing any efforts will be futile now. He gathers his things and makes his way to the door.

 

“Also, don't bother coming tomorrow.”

 

“E-eh?”

 

“Or any day after.” Akashi says, voice tight, still facing the wall. “You're leaving me in two weeks, anyways. Might as well just do it now.”

 

“Sei-kun-!” Furihata shakes his head, shocked.

 

“ _I mean it_.” Akashi's tone is final.

 

Furihata bites his lips and exits, not forgetting to bow politely beforehand, bitter as he is. He shuts the door behind himself and leans against it heavily, tilting his head up. He blinks away his tears, feeling as though Akashi has just stabbed him.

 

Back inside the room, Akashi curls up into a tight ball on the bed with his hands clenched, feeling exactly the same.

 


	4. Back To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time flies.

The day Furihata leaves for Kobe, he gets an unexpected visitor.

 

Furihata has woken up early to make himself a bento for the train ride. Then, just as Furihata is stuffing everything into the lunch box, he damn near has a heart attack when he looks up to the window to find a pair of large, unblinking crimson eyes staring directly back at him. It could've been something out of a horror film, only that it isn't.

 

“S-Sei-kun?!”

 

Furihata immediately rushes outside to find, indeed, Akashi Seijuuro in the flesh. The boy is standing on a crate so that he can peek through the kitchen window, being _just_ tall enough for the top half of his face to be higher than the window sill.

 

“Kouki,” When Akashi sees Furihata, he nods at him as per usual. As though the last two weeks of them not seeing each other never even happened.

 

“Sei-kun, w-what are you doing here?” Furihata is in disbelief. “H-How long have you been standing outside?”

 

“A while.”

 

“Why didn't you ring the doorbell?”

 

Akashi frowns. Then, reluctantly, he admits, “I couldn't reach the buzzer.”

 

“O-oh.” Of course not. Not that Furihata will ever say that out loud.

 

“Also, the crates are too heavy for carriage. I figured it is best to wait by the window until someone spots me.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Furihata doesn't know whether to be more amused or impressed.

 

He brings Akashi into the house, feeding him tamago dofu – not as good as tofu soup, but it'll do – and a cup of warm milk as Furihata finishes packing his bento. Furihata then takes Akashi to his bedroom, closing the door behind them.

 

Akashi instantly makes himself at home, plopping down on Furihata's bed like he owns it. Typical. From there, Akashi spots two large luggages across the room. Furihata watches as Akashi's face changes – those wide, deep-set red eyes narrowing just the slightest bit. Unnoticeable by most, but Furihata has known Akashi for nearly three whole years.

 

“You knew I was leaving today,” Furihata begins, sitting down on the bed.

 

Akashi only stares at him. “You can't go. I won't allow it.”

 

“Sei-kun,” He shakes his head. “It's for my future.”

 

“You can continue working for my family. University is not so necessary when you already have a job.”

 

“I can't be a caretaker forever. What am I going to do when Sei-kun grows up?”

 

“Then I shall take care of you myself.”

 

Furihata sighs. “It's not that simple.”

 

Akashi narrows his eyes, “You think I am not capable?”

 

“I don't doubt that you are, but I don't want that. I- I want to be able to stand on my own two feet. Earn my own income.”

 

“So I'll pay. You can consider it your salary.”

 

“T-that's not the point.”

 

“I don't comprehend what the problem is.”

 

Furihata doesn't know how to explain it to him either, so he remains quiet.

 

Akashi frowns, those two little red brows knotting together. “Why are you so intent on leaving me, Kouki?”

 

“I-it's not that I _want_ to leave you, Sei-kun. It's just-”

 

“But you are. Leaving.”

 

“It's only temporarily. Every holiday-”

 

Akashi cuts him off sharply, “Several _months_ without seeing you is not 'temporary' for me.”

 

Furihata doesn't have anything to say to that. He looks down at his fingers, a feeling of guilt welling up.

 

Silence falls between them; Akashi still staring at Furihata intensely, whilst Furihata refuses to meet his eyes. They are sitting less than a meter away from each other, and yet the distance between them seems much further apart. Furihata might as well be in Kobe.

 

Then, out of the blue, Akashi reaches out and touches Furihata's hand. In that instant, all the metaphorical distance between them shrinks back until it is no more than the physical distance.

 

“Kouki.” He says, and squeezes.

 

Again, their silent communication. Furihata is constantly amazed by how Akashi knows ways to speak to him without words – and yet, he never realizes that Akashi is equally impressed by how Furihata understands him when no one else can.

 

And right now, Furihata knows Akashi is telling him: 'Stay.'

 

“I don't want to leave, either.” Furihata takes Akashi's smaller hand into his palm and squeezes back.

 

“Then don't.” Akashi's voice is softer even when his eyes are piercing into Furihata's, his gaze fierce enough to make him shiver.

 

Furihata starts to shake his head again, “Sei-kun, you know I-”

 

“I want you to stay.”

 

“I-I know, and I do, too, but-” Furihata holds his hand tight, “I can't.”

 

“Yes, you can.” Akashi is persistent.

 

“I'm sorry, Sei-kun.”

 

Furihata cannot do anything but wrap his arms around Akashi, hugging him close and hoping it is enough to let Akashi know that this is hardly easy for him, either. Furihata then strokes Akashi's hair, just as he always does, and Akashi goes completely stiff. He grabs on tight to Furihata's shirt with his free hand, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet in a way that is so unlike Akashi that it goes straight to Furihata's heart.

 

“ _Don't go, Kouki_.”

 

Furihata chokes up. How is he supposed to leave Akashi here now when he sounds so excruciatingly _lonely_?

 

Tears brim up in Furihata's eyes and he clutches on to Akashi, his body tense. Akashi doesn't understand what is happening until Furihata's breath hitches and he senses small drops of water starting to dampen the shoulder of his yukata. Akashi's frown deepens, because it was never his intention to make Furihata cry – never _ever_ – especially not because of him.

 

Akashi reaches one short arm up to pat Furihata's hair in what is supposed to comfort him, but that only makes Furihata weep harder, and Akashi falls rigid, not knowing what to do.

 

“I-I'll miss you, Sei-kun,” Furihata whispers, sniffing – and he will. Akashi has grown on him tremendously in the past three years, and before he knew it, Furihata starts looking forward to heading over to the Akashi mansion, waiting for the days he gets to see Akashi. Akashi is special – the way he talks, the way he thinks, the way he sees things – and Furihata is intrigued by him; fascinated by his intelligence, captured by his rare smiles. “I r-really will miss you.”

 

Akashi doesn't know why, but hearing Furihata say that makes his chest hurt.

 

They stay like that until it is time for Furihata to go catch his train; Furihata a teary, swollen-eyed mess when he releases Akashi from his arms. Akashi doesn't want to let him go, but he does. He wants to say something to stop Furihata from leaving, but he doesn't. He just stands there, silently watching as Furihata takes his bags and go off in the taxi, waving at Akashi as the car leaves, those warm brown eyes watery all over again.

 

Akashi doesn't wave back, and he doesn't cry. He just stares straight at Furihata, burning those eyes into his memory.

 

It isn't until Akashi is back in his own bedroom at the mansion, photos he took with Furihata spread out on the bed, that it hits him that Furihata is actually gone.

 

Akashi curls up in his duvet and hides his face in his yukata – still with Furihata's scent clinging on – and convinces himself that the yukata is only damp from Furihata's tears.

 

 

…

 

_'Young men's love lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.' - Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare._

 

…

 

 

Akashi Seijuuro is an incredible young man.

 

Top of his class with excellency in all areas, he is the pride and joy of Rakuzan High. Since his first year, Akashi has been president of the student council, captain of the basketball team, and champion of the strategy boardgames club. Number one with perfect scores in all subjects, Akashi has no known weakness. He knows only strength, only brilliance, only _victory._

 

The Rakuzan girls call him the 'Flawless Prince'. It is certainly not an overstatement. Akashi – with his abundance in wealth, talent, power, intelligence, leadership skills, physical athleticism, and good looks – is definitely an attractive package; _the_ tremendous catch of their generation. Of course, this is hardly surprising. He's an _Akashi_ , for goodness' sake. Not to mention, Akashi has impeccable manners and etiquette, and he is _charming_ ; all polite speech and serene smiles _._ Smooth as butter, he is capable of anything and everything without even a single blink of hesitation. It is no wonder women of all age and size fall at his feet; drawn to him like moths to a flame.

 

Little do they know that Akashi Seijuuro is also terrifying.

 

_' Since I always win, I'm always right. If you oppose me... I'll kill you, no matter who you are.'_

 

_'No one that opposes me is allowed to look down on me.'_

 

_'My orders are absolute.'_

 

_'Know your place.'_

 

Akashi Seijuuro is a tyrant.

 

Granted, he has gradually become less oppressive in the past two years. Spending time with his teammates from Teikou Junior High aided the dilution process. However, as with a knife, it doesn't matter how much you blunt the blade. A knife is a knife – with enough force, it is still dangerous, still capable of serious harm.

 

“Akashicchi, you have _got_ to stop staring at people like that.”

 

“I am not staring.”

 

“Whatever it is, it's creepy! Akashicchi, honestly, it looks like you're about to murder someone!”

 

“Your point being?”

 

“Well, it's not very nice.”

 

“I appreciate your concern, Ryouta, but it is unnecessary. I am presently not on the verge of murder. Or killing, for that matter. There is a difference.”

 

“...right.”

 

Model, basketball prodigy, and blonde – throw these three categories and their respective stereotypes together, plus a dash of golden retriever puppy-like personality, and we get one Kise Ryouta in all his _ikemen_ pretty-boy sparkly glory.

 

“You were saying?”

 

“Ah, right! About the reunion trip. Since Kurokocchi is bringing Kagamicchi, Murasakicchi wants to bring Himuro-san, too, and he is very insistent.”

 

“As to be expected.” Akashi nods. “I have predicted they would stay in contact even after Tatsuya graduated.”

 

“I know, right? It's like they're attach at the hip! It's cute, heh. Speaking of which, Midorimacchi wants to bring Takao-kun, of course, even if he doesn't say, but we _all_ know he does.”

 

“Of course.” Akashi nods, simply.

 

“So, Aominecchi and Momoicchi is fine with, you know, everyone tagging someone along, and they sent me here to ask whether you're okay with it too?”

 

Akashi raises a brow. “Why wouldn't I be? I have completely come to terms with the fact that all of you have branched out and formed stable relationships with teammates from your respective schools. It is paramount to your team's success, after all. I have no issue with anyone bringing along whoever they wish to.”

 

“Ehh, but wouldn't it make you uncomfortable, Akashicchi?”

 

“Not at all. In fact, I am supportive of your friendships. I would invite someone from Rakuzan, too, but I'm afraid they are preoccupied.”

 

“'...ah.” Kise smiles dryly. It is only then, after two long years, that Kise realizes that Akashi doesn't _get it._

 

For all his genius in everything else, Akashi can be astoundingly oblivious to what is going on right before his eyes. Sure, Akashi notices the excessive intimacy between, say, Kuroko and Kagami, but Akashi doesn't interpret it as anything else beyond a completely pure, respectable strong bond between teammates. It is as though Akashi has never even considered the possibility of it being anything else. Kise has to wonder how Akashi's mind works; how is it possible to be so sharp, and yet so naïve? And why did no one ever take the time to tell Akashi any different? But then again, Kise didn't, either. “'Friendships', huh...”

 

“What was that?” Akashi inquires, though his eyes remain on the sudoku squares in his hand.

 

“Oh! Nothing, nothing at all! I was just, um, thinking about our trip. You know, um, how much fun we'll all have at Kinosaki, the onsens, seeing everybody... y'know?”

 

Akashi does turn to face Kise this time, giving him a _look_. “Ryouta, you are a terrible liar. You will never fool any common person, let alone me.”

 

“Ehh? Akashicchi, I wasn't lying!”

 

“It is alright. If it's of enough importance, I assume I will be informed, eventually.” Akashi waves it off, going back to his sudoku.

 

Kise can only chuckle nervously, super glad that Akashi doesn't push it, because boy, he does _not_ want to be the one to enlighten their previous captain what _all_ his ex-teammates, including the blonde himself, have _really_ been up to.

 

Kise cannot even imagine what Akashi's reaction will be.

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata Kouki is an elementary school teacher.

 

It isn't much of a surprise to anyone who knows him, really. Furihata has always been very good with children, and he likes taking care of them. Not to mention children absolutely adore him. Apparently, there is some kind of 'special touch' which makes the young ones flock towards him.

 

“Furi-sensei! Makoto-kun stole my backpack!”

 

“I didn't steal! You were just stupid enough to drop it, baka.”

 

“Don't call me that!”

 

“Baka, baka, bakaaa-”

 

“Now, now, that's not how you should be treating a girl, Makoto-kun.” Furihata swoops in between the squabbling children, placing himself as a barrier between sweet little Ami who looks on the verge of tears and the troublemaker Makoto, who is sticking his tongue out at her.

 

“Her? A girl? Please.” Makoto sneers.

 

“HEY!” Ami glares at him.

 

Furihata sighs. Oh, fifth-grade drama. Give it another five or six years and Furihata can bet these two will at some point consider dating each other. Children are funny like that.

 

“Alright, time to give Ami-chan back her bag, ne?” Furihata taps Makoto on his shoulder.

 

“It's her fault she dropped it in the first place! She should be thanking me that I picked it up!” Makoto huffs.

 

“Why would I thank you for stealing my things!” Ami screeches back.

 

“Ooo-kay, enough, you two.” Furihata pulls them apart. “Makoto-kun, I'm only going ask you one more time. Please give Ami-chan back her bag? I know you don't really want to steal it, do you?”

 

“Tch- fine!”

 

Makoto reluctantly pushes the backpack back into Ami's arms, who snatches it from him and grins smugly. Makoto scowls and crosses his arms, turning his face away petulantly.

 

Furihata nods. “And, Ami-chan, you should give Makoto-kun your thanks for picking up the bag you dropped.”

 

“Ehh? Furi-sensei!” Ami wails in protest.

 

“Come on, now. Be a good girl.” Furihata ushers the girl towards Makoto encouragingly.

 

Ami clutches her bag close to her and mumbles, “T-thanks, I guess.”

 

Furihata smiles when the conflict is resolved and sends the two off to join their friends in their respective rooms at the ryokan. He watches them run along together and exhales, tiredly running his hand through his hair and sitting down on a lobby bench. It is only the first day of the field trip and already there have been at least three disputes between the children.

 

“It's going to be a long five days, huh.” Someone sits down next to him.

 

“Ah, Izuki-senpai – I mean, Izuki-sensei.” Furihata turns to see his senior, both now in his career and back in high school, and bows slightly. “Thank you for all your hard work.”

 

“You too, you too. It's your first time properly organizing a field trip, isn't it?”

 

“Oh, y-yes. I've only been assisting before.”

 

“Well, you're doing great so far. No deaths or casualties. Not yet, anyways.” Izuki teases, casually leaning back against the wall. “Imagine the headlines. 'Parents steaming from child death on field trip'. Heh!”

 

“Um...” Furihata shifts awkwardly in his seat.

 

“Get it? Steaming? 'Cause we're at a ryokan? And in Kinosaki – the onsen town – no less!”

 

Furihata can only smile sheepishly. Izuki hasn't changed one bit since Seirin – all bad puns and jokes still fully intact. Unfortunately.

 

Later, they head to their shared room to unpack and prepare for the kids' afternoon activities. However, there appears to be one problem.

 

“Eh? Furihata, what's up?” Izuki asks when he sees Furihata stopping by the door, tilting his head at the luggage on the floor.

 

“Ano... that's not my bag.”

 

 

…

 

 

“ _Unacceptable_.”

 

“We're really very sorry Akashi-sama! We promise to sort this out as soon as possible!”

 

“I would expect you to, and quickly.”

 

“O-of course, sir. P-please excuse me. Once again, our deepest apologies that this has happened. We're really sorry!”

 

Akashi waves off the ryokan manager who is bowing and apologizing so much Akashi could've mistaken him for that one dainty Touou shooting guard Aomine likes to pick on.

 

“Heeeeh. Poor guy.” Murasakibara appears by Akashi's door just in time to watch the manager leave in haste.

 

“Eh? Atsushi, you know what's going on?” Himuro, expectedly, appears beside the much taller purple-head, looking up at him curiously.

 

“Nah.” Murasakibara answers, shrugging sluggishly. “I just know Aka-chin's mad. I feel sorry for anyone who makes Aka-chin mad.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Atsushi. Tatsuya.” Akashi beckons them inside. “You've come to see me. Is there a problem?”

 

“Oh, no problem at all, Akashi-kun. Atsushi just said that you have something for him, so he wanted to come get it.” Himuro explains.

 

“Ah.” Akashi nods.

 

“Aka-chinnnnn. You promised me you'd bring me Yatsuhashi from Kyoto, and the limited edition Yatsuhashi flavored Kitkats too... you did bring them, didn't you? Say you brought them, Aka-chin.”

 

“Yes, Atsushi. I did bring them.”

 

“Ooh.” Murasakibara stretches his abnormally long arm out to Akashi, palms up and ready to receive his promised food.

 

“Atsushi, don't be rude.” Himuro nudges him.

 

“I'm not being rude, Muro-chin. Aka-chin already said he's gonna give me the snacks.”

 

“Yes, but I'm afraid you will have to wait, Atsushi. The Yatsuhashi is not with me at the current moment.”

 

Murasakibara instantly drops his hand and scowls like a child. “Whaaaat. Why??”

 

“Unfortunately, the inn has made somewhat of a mix-up and has managed to swap my suitcase with another guest's. I have already reprimanded the manager about this, and the issue should be resolved soon enough.” Akashi says, concise and matter-of-factly, not at all hinting that his 'reprimanding' has the manager of the ryokan quite literally fearing for his life.

 

“And... the Yatsuhashi?” Murasakibara asks.

 

Akashi blinks. “In my suitcase, Atsushi.”

 

“Oh. Okay, then.” Murasakibara nods, satisfied. Then, frowns. “Muro-chin, what are you nudging me for?”

 

The inn phone rings at that point, and Akashi picks up to hear the manager's voice hurriedly telling him that they have found his bag. Akashi glances at his watch – three minutes; faster than he expected. Not bad.

 

“Very well. Bring it to my suite and you can collect this guest's luggage as well-- what do you mean he's going to bring it over himself? He's a guest, he shouldn't- he's already on his way?”

 

Before Akashi can critique the clerk further for allowing a _guest_ to do their work – already preparing a speech on how his father will hear about this and how there will have to be many serious _adjustments_ to be made to the staff in the foreseeable future – there is a knock on the door.

 

Followed by a voice Akashi finds oddly familiar, but cannot really place.

 

“A-ano... excuse me, I believe we've swapped bags?”

 

Akashi hangs up the phone and calls back to the guest in a calm manner, standing up to adjust his yukata. “Yes, that is correct. I will be there in a moment.”

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata tilts his head when he hears the reply through the door. This guest certainly has an authoritative tone – fitting for someone who's staying in the most expensive suite of the ryokan, really – but his voice is also light and smooth. Like the voice of a young man, unexpectedly, but still the voice of a professional. Furihata can already guess that this person must have come from a well-bred family.

 

The door clicks, unlocking sounds being heard, and Furihata bends over to bring the guest's suitcase forward.

 

Furihata is still pulling the bag when the door swings open. “Ah, here is your-”

 

Furihata freezes.

 

Large, piercing crimson eyes stare back at him, wide and intense, with deep red hair framing his face. All Furihata can see is red. Not a common hair and eye color, by any means.

 

In fact, Furihata has only ever met one person with this particular combination.

 

“Y-you...” Furihata begins to say, subconsciously taking one step forward, completely forgetting that he had just moved the guest's luggage there. The suitcase topples over and lands with a bang that is far too loud in this quiet corridor.

 

“Ah-! S-sorry!” Furihata quickly bows in apology. Flustered, he fumbles with the suitcase to stand it back up.

 

The red-haired young man – looking definitely no older than twenty years old, but with an air of maturity that exceeds even Furihata's – reaches out to help him, placing his hand directly beside Furihata's. Together, they get the suitcase back to its original position, but the man does not release his hold.

 

“A-ano, sorry about that,” Furihata apologizes again, dipping his head.

 

The man is staring at their hands, next to each other on the luggage's handle, close enough that their skin is touching. He says nothing.

 

“U-um...” Furihata fidgets awkwardly, starting to pull his hands back.

 

In one sharp movement, faster than a blink of an eye, Furihata's hand is captured in the man's palm. The grip on him is strong enough to prevent Furihata from even _trying_ to pull away.

 

“E-eh..?!” Furihata nervously flits his eyes up towards the man, before his round brown eyes widen. Because this man, with his red hair and intense crimson eyes, had just _squeezed_ his hand – and Furihata just _knows_. He gapes at him, “N-no way...”

 

The man – who Furihata is now certain can be no one else but _Akashi Seijuuro –_ bares his teeth in a sly smirk.

 

“Long time no see, _Kouki._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure whether Japanese schools take their students to ryokans on field trips, but I wanted an onsen place, so hopefully this is not drastically inaccurate. Please go along with it, ne? ^^'' Also, I am taking liberties with this fic by making all of the Seirin regulars (with the exception of Kuroko and Kagami) ten years older – as seen with Izuki-senpai here.
> 
> ps. Updates will now be on weekends as I have limited access to wifi during the week when I'm on clinical placement.


	5. Remember When

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Furihata embarrasses himself more than once.

Furihata cannot believe he ran away.

 

Well, not exactly. Furihata didn't actually 'run'. It was more of an awkward sequence of avoiding any and all eye contact throughout the whole operation of 1) discreetly retrieving his bag from Akashi 2) walking backwards away with it 3) realizing how dumb that looked, hence, 4) turning around to walk the other way and 5) tripping over his own leg and falling flat on his face in the process. His suitcase slammed to the floor right beside him as though to mock his failure.

 

Furihata then proceeded to clumsily get up and speed-walked off to the elevator, only to remember that he's left his bag lying right where it fell the exact moment the elevator arrived. This resulted in a mad rush for the bag then back to the elevator – which, unsurprisingly, failed, the doors closing _just_ as Furihata reached them. Typical.

 

Thus, Furihata was left standing there waiting for the next elevator, embarrassed beyond measure and fidgeting inelegantly under the scrutiny of Akashi Seijuuro's eyes. Meanwhile Akashi – complete with familiar demonic orbs which intensified about eightfold in the past ten years – stood there watching him with a mildly amused smile, making Furihata wish the floor would just open up and swallow him whole.

 

It has been five hours since then, and Furihata is _still_ trying to get over the humiliation.

 

Because, really, why did he run away anyways? It wasn't like there was anything to run away _from._ It's not like they parted on bad terms – in fact, far from that. And yet, something about the way Akashi had _looked_ at him, the way those lips curled into a sly smirk, that made Furihata's nerves scream ' _danger_ '.

 

Which is ridiculous, because Akashi isn't dangerous. Furihata had _raised_ the boy, for heaven's sake, there is no way Akashi could be dangerous... right?

 

And yet, when the ryokan staff came to hand Furihata a note from one _Akashi Seijuuro_ , Furihata cannot help the tiny high-pitched squeak of fear that escapes from the back of his throat.

 

“...Furihata, are you alright?”

 

Izuki furrows his brows when he comes back to the room to find Furihata hugging his knees, as still as stone on the bed, eyes boring into a piece of paper sitting by his feet.

 

“Yes. No. Um.” Furihata looks up helplessly, “I- I don't know?”

 

Izuki blinks. “Oo-kay. Let me see that?”

 

Furihata gingerly hands the note over by his fingertips, as though the piece of paper is highly radioactive.

 

“Hmm, let's see, let's see, 'Meet me tonight, 19.00, at my suite. I will have dinner prepared for us. I believe we have much to catch up on. - A. S.'” Izuki raises his brows, his lips curling into a little grin, “Hehh? What's this? Sounds like you've got a date – who's this lucky A. S. person?”

 

“Oh, n-no, no, it isn't anything remotely like a date at all!” Furihata shakes his head, waving his hands frantically in front of him. “I-it's, um, he's just a kid I used to take care of.”

 

“Hehh? He doesn't sound like a kid. Or writes like one – look at how immaculate this handwriting is!”

 

“Ano- well, it's been almost ten years since I've last seen him. So he's like- um...” Furihata counts the years on his fingers, “Eighteen. Yes, Akashi-kun should be around eighteen.”

 

“Ahh. I see. That can be a little strange seeing them after so long.” Izuki nods, before he pauses, and cocks his head to one side. “Wait a second. What did you say his name was?”

 

“Eh? Akashi. Akashi Seijuuro. Why?”

 

“Akashi, Akashi... sounds familiar, for some reason.” Izuki shrugs. “Oh well. I'll tell you when I remember. Shouldn't you be heading off for this dinner already, by the way?”

 

“Huh? What time is it?” Furihata perks up. “Don't tell me-”

 

“Seven minutes past seven pm.” Izuki shows him his watch, blinking the numbers '19:07' condescendingly at Furihata.

 

“Eh?!”

 

 

…

 

 

“You're late, _Kouki_.”

 

 _'Kouki.'_ There's something peculiar about the way Akashi says his name that Furihata can't place his finger on. There is definitely somethingunderlying the tone of Akashi's voice, something odd, but Furihata doesn't know what exactly is off about it.

 

Akashi is standing in the doorway to his suite draped in a dark blue yukata, leaning on the doorframe with one shoulder – arms crossed, crimson eyes wide and staring. Still staring, even after all these years. Some things never change, it seems.

 

Furihata dips into a shallow bow before him. “I-I'm really sorry! I forgot to look at the time and before I knew it-”

 

“It is alright.” Akashi cuts him off with a simple wave of his hand. “To be honest, I'm pleasantly surprised you even showed up. Judging from your reaction to meeting me earlier on.”

 

“A-ano... sorry about that, too.” Furihata flushes at the memory.

 

“No matter. You're here, now.” Akashi's lips quirk into a serene smile, pushing off the doorframe and angling his body so that Furihata can enter his room.

 

Furihata shuffles past him, getting a whiff of Akashi's cologne – smooth ice, spicy sandalwood – and Furihata freezes, because gone is that mildly sweet shampoo scent of a child; Akashi smells like a _man._

 

“Is something the matter?” Akashi tilts his head, watching Furihata.

 

Furihata shakes his head, mumbling, “Oh, n-nothing.”

 

“Hm?” Akashi leans towards him, red orbs on Furihata, leaning closer and closer until he is just about looming over Furihata, placing one hand above his head on the doorframe.

 

“U-um...”

 

“You haven't grown much taller since high school, have you?” Akashi suddenly asks – his face and voice all too close for Furihata's comfort.

 

“I- I don't think so?”

 

“How tall are you exactly?”

 

“Eh- I'm not entirely sure...” Furihata shifts awkwardly, not knowing where to look when Akashi is taking over about ninety percent of his scope of vision.

 

“I see.” Akashi says, non-committal. Then with one last look at Furihata, he pulls back, much to the other's relief.

 

Furihata politely ducks under Akashi's arm and steps into his room, Akashi closing the door behind them. He motions for Furihata to take a seat at the kotatsu in the centre of the suite whilst he excuses himself to his bedroom section for a moment. Furihata, left alone, barely manages not to gawk at the array of food on the table – fresh king crab meat, sashimi, tempura, and is that-?

 

Furihata cannot help but chuckle fondly, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Is there something amusing?” Akashi returns, a glass bottle in his hand, and moves to sit at the kotatsu as well.

 

Furihata smiles at him, cheeks dimpling, “I see your liking of tofu soup hasn't changed.”

 

Akashi stills, eyes on Furihata. Those intense red orbs seem to deepen for just a second, then it is gone. Akashi sits behind the kotatsu and props his elbow on the table, casually leaning his chin on his palm. “Ah. I suppose it is only normal.”

 

“Hm? What do you mean?”

 

Akashi flits his eyes back up to stare straight into Furihata's, “My liking of many things hasn't changed.”

 

Furihata blinks. “E-eh?”

 

“ _Itadakimasu._ ” Akashi picks up his chopsticks.

 

“Ano... _itadakimasu_.” Furihata isn't given the opportunity to push into the subject any further.

 

They dine with Akashi's laptop playing soft music in the background, talking occasionally. Akashi asks about Furihata's job, humming agreeably when Furihata tells him he is now a school teacher. Akashi is not at all surprised that Furihata chose to go into a career involving children – after all, Furihata managed to deal with _Akashi_ as a child, and that is no small feat. Furihata, in turn, asks about Akashi's school life and his plans for the future.

 

“University of Tokyo? That's incredible!” Furihata gapes, chopsticks paused before his mouth.

 

“Thank you.” Akashi replies automatically, like he's done it a hundred times before. Furihata realises he probably has.

 

“Ah- but to be honest, I'm not surprised.”

 

Akashi cocks an eyebrow, “Why do you say that?”

 

“Well, Akashi-kun has always been exceptionally smart, ne? Back when I used to go over to your house you'd beat me in every board and puzzle game there was,” Furihata smiles and shakes his head, thinking back to the first time Akashi asked him to play Shogi against him.

 

 _'You're not very good at this, Kouki.'_ Akashi had said, his small fingers resetting the pieces of the board, two little red eyebrows tied into a knot of disapproval.

 

Furihata chuckles at the memory, “I was twice your age, but you beat me straight-up ten out of ten times.”

 

“Ah. That's right.” Akashi's lips curl, nostalgic, remembering. Then, after a pause, “'Akashi-kun'?”

 

“Huh? What was that?” Furihata looks up from his tempura.

 

Akashi watches him for a moment, “Nothing.”

 

“Didn't you say something just now?”

 

“Did I, now? Do you want something to drink, Kouki?” Akashi swiftly changes the subject, pulling out the glass bottle he had previously.

 

“Eh? U-um, sure,” Furihata nods, going with the flow. But then, something on the bottle's label catches his eye. “Is that _sake_?”

 

“Yes.” Akashi replies easily, pouring Furihata and himself a cup each. “ _Jukushu sake_.”

 

“ _Jukushu??_ ” The most expensive type. Of course. Furihata really shouldn't be surprised, but the years away from Akashi has lessened his immunity to these sorts of things. “Um... Akashi-kun, how old are you, actually? Because I thought you'd be-”

 

“Eighteen,” Akashi hands Furihata a cup.

 

“A-ano... excuse me if I'm wrong, but isn't the legal drinking age twenty?”

 

“Yes. That is correct.” Akashi nods, not missing a beat.

 

Furihata shifts in his seat, staring down at his cup, “U-um... as an educator, I feel like I should s-say something here-”

 

Akashi actually lets slip a tiny chuckle at that. The sly smirk from before is back on his face, crimson eyes glinting, “Don't pretend like you haven't done it yourself, Kouki.”

 

“But t-technically I shouldn't really-”

 

“I won't tell.”

 

“T-that's not the point-”

 

Akashi sighs, though he looks part-amused, “What, then? Should we pinky-promise on it to reassure you?”

 

Furihata's round brown eyes widen, “That is... y-you remember that?”

 

“Of course.” Akashi raises his cup towards him, “Drink with me, Kouki. It's far better than letting me, a minor, drink all of it myself, is it not?”

 

“T-that's... that's cheating.” Furihata pouts without realising.

 

“No, it's not cheating,” Akashi's smirk only grows wider, “It's _'teamwork'_.”

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata, thus far, has only ever been drunk three times in his life. First time was when he graduated from Seirin High. Second time was during initiations in his first year at Kobe University. Third was when he graduated from Kobe, and celebrated getting a job. All three times, a big event, an occasion – not that Furihata remembers much of any of them, but he knows he doesn't allow himself to get fully obliterated unless there is a significant reason for it.

 

Which is why Furihata is definitely not drunk right now. Not with his still very much underage – even though he doesn't act like it at all – former student. Tipsy? Very much so. But drunk? No. Definitely not.

 

“Akashi-kuuun. I can't believe you remember everything! _Everything,_ even after all this time!”

 

Not _yet_ , anyways.

 

Akashi sits across from Furihata, watching the other's every movement with interest. His chin is propped up in his palm, an amused expression on his face. He didn't expect Furihata to be such a lightweight. Not that Akashi even considered the possibility of Furihata being a heavyweight, but he had expected at least a little more tolerance.

 

Akashi himself is not anywhere near tipsy. “Are you alright, Kouki?”

 

“I'm fiiiine.” Furihata beams up at him from where his face is planted on the table. “You're not even drunk at all, are you?”

 

“I'm afraid not.” Akashi says, with a quirk to his lips.

 

“How- how is that even fair?” Furihata scowls, “I'm older than you, y'know?”

 

“I am aware.”

 

“There you go again, sounding so mature and proper. Just like back then!”

 

“Back then?”

 

“ _Backkk_ then. When Akashi-kun was just a child.”

 

“I see.”

 

“You were so smart. No, you _are_ so smart. Like- like- a genius. I remember thinking that when I first saw you play Shogi. Your hands were tiny. Ah, you were so little back then...” Furihata drifts off, resting his chin on the table, eyelids drooping.

 

“Not anymore,” Akashi shakes his head.

 

“Mm...?”

 

“I'm taller than Kouki, now.” He says, with a small note of satisfaction.

 

“Eh? You are?” Furihata looks up at him again, eyes wide and round. Then, his lips spread into a gentle smile, his eyes smiling with him. “You really have grown a lot, ne?”

 

“Yes, I-” Akashi pauses when all of a sudden, Furihata reaches over and places his hand atop his head and ruffles his hair fondly.

 

“I'm glad.” Furihata says, dimpling even as his eyes become half-lidded.

 

Akashi does not move – barely even breathes – as he watches Furihata's eyes flutter shut, his fingers still woven in Akashi's hair. Furihata's eyelashes are still as long as they used to be, he notes, and that pleases him. Not as much as it pleases him that he's taller than Furihata now, but nonetheless.

 

Slowly, and with care, Akashi removes Furihata's hand from his head. However, he does not let go of him immediately. Instead, Akashi holds Furihata's hand with his own, raising a brow when he sees how his palm nearly envelopes Furihata's entirely – their positions from ten years ago now reversed.

 

And yet, despite everything that has changed in the past many years of not seeing each other, Furihata's hand is still as warm as Akashi remembers.

 

“I wonder,” Akashi murmurs, running his thumb across the back of Furihata's hand.

 

“Mm..?” Furihata hums with his eyes still closed and his face fully resting on the table. “Ne, Akashi-kun?”

 

“What is it, Kouki?” Akashi's voice unintentionally drops a tone, and he doesn't even notice.

 

“I think-” he pauses, pondering for a moment. “-I think I'm drunk.”

 

Akashi raises a brow, amused, “Yes, I think we've established that.”

 

“But you're not drunk?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Not even, like, a little bit?”

 

“Not in the slightest.”

 

Furihata frowns at that, and even with his eyes closed he still manages to look confused.

 

“What's the matter?” Akashi inquires.

 

Furihata shakes his head, speaking slowly, “If- if you're not drunk, then why...?”

 

“'Why'?” he repeats.

 

“Why are you holding my hand?”

 

The question is so innocent, with absolutely nothing but pure curiosity behind his words. But somehow that makes it worse because Akashi cannot find a genuine answer for this genuine question. There is no answer. He hadn't thought about it when he took Furihata's hand in his own, he just did. Even that by itself is unusual for someone like Akashi, because Akashi _always_ has a plan, a clear purpose to each and every movement. Think first, act later, and never the other way around.

 

It's been too long since Akashi has done something with absolutely no strategizing beforehand.

 

“Do you dislike it?” Akashi retorts the question with a question. It avoids having to answer the question itself.

 

“Nope,” Furihata replies instantly. “I'm just- curious.”

 

Akashi remains quiet. Then, he gives Furihata's hand a firm squeeze instead of a verbal response.

 

Furihata smiles with closed eyes, “That again.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“This.” Furihata squeezes back, “I remember this.”

 

“Do you, now?” Akashi says in a soft voice, intertwining their fingers. Another squeeze.

 

“Yes,” Furihata lets his fingers fall between Akashi's, sighing pleasantly. “I missed this.”

 

Akashi's chest tightens at that, but he ignores the feeling. “Is that so?”

 

“Mm-hm,” Furihata nods, before he turns his head and flutters his eyes slightly open to look at Akashi – those warm caramel-colored orbs melty and glazed over. “I just- yeah. I missed _you_ , mostly.”

 

This time, Akashi cannot ignore the hard clench right behind his sternum. The lurch is strong enough it takes hold of his breath for a second, demanding his attention. His voice reduces to a low hum, “You missed me.”

 

“I did!” he smiles, then giggles a little – and Akashi wishes he wouldn't do that because Furihata giggling only makes the ache, that strange twinge of pain, worse. “Ahh, can you keep a secret, Akashi-kun?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Heh, don't tell anyone this, but-” Furihata pauses to lower his voice into a mischeivous whisper, bringing his index finger to his lips, his brown eyes sparkling. “Out of all the children I've met, you're my favourite, y'know.”

 

It really doesn't make any sense that Akashi would find someone – a grown _man_ , not to mention; a man who's almost ten years older than him and quite terribly drunk – this adorable. It doesn't make sense at all.

 

Akashi squeezes Furihata's hand tight, saying nothing.

 

“Don't tell anyone, 'kay? I'm not meant to- um, like- have favourites...” Furihata leans his cheek back on to the table and lets his eyes fall shut again. “...or something like that... the proto- protocol and all, that's what the trainers said...”

 

Akashi lets him ramble on, running the pad of his thumb over the back of Furihata's index finger, watching him silently; the rise and fall of his chest. The way his lips remain slightly parted even after he's stopped speaking. For a while, the room is filled only by the sound of their breaths and the soft music playing in the background.

 

It isn't until Akashi is certain Furihata has fallen completely asleep that he finally speaks – leaning in close so that he is mere centimeters away from Furihata's cheek, voice barely audible.

 

“You're _my_ favourite, Kouki.”

 

Another squeeze of his hand. Another whisper.

 

“Be warned. This time, I'm not letting you go.”

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata is suffering. Visibly, too, if the comments from his clear-eyed students are anything to go by.

 

“Furi-sensei! Furi-sensei! Are you dying?”

 

“Ehh? If Furi-sensei is dying, shouldn't he be in hospital?”

 

“Baka! Not everyone who's dying is in hospital.”

 

“But they mostly are, though!”

 

“Furi-sensei kind of looks like he's dying...”

 

“I know! Maybe we should take Furi-sensei to the hospital!”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“Kids, kids,” Izuki swoops in to save his colleague before Furihata either collapses to the floor or throws up all over the poor tiny souls crowding over him. “Furi-sensei isn't dying, alright? He's just feeling a little under the weather, so you all have to be on your best behavior and not give him any more trouble, yes?”

 

“Haiiii.” The children chime in unison before trotting off as a group to continue their sight-seeing.

 

“Ano- thank you very much, senpai,” Furihata dips his head – and oh, that's a bad idea, his brain feels like it's going to fall out. Ugh, he is never drinking again. Ever.

 

“No problem,” Izuki pats his shoulder reassuringly. “Everyone's allowed a slip up every now and again. Ne, what were you drinking last night?”

 

“Um- _jukushu sake_ , I think it was.” Even the _memory_ of the drink's name is enough to make Furihata cringe.

 

Izuki whistles. “Uwoh, posh. Shame, though. I was just about to play a pun about wine.”

 

Furihata decides to humor him, “What about wine?”

 

Izuki flashes a huge smile, “When you get a wine hangover, it's called a _grape_ depression!”

 

Ah. Maybe he shouldn't have encouraged him after all. Furihata can only offer a dry smile.

 

“Oh yeah. By the way, I remember now why the name of your date yesterday sounded so familiar.”

 

“I-it wasn't a date!” Furihata quickly corrects him. Akashi is his former _student_ , for goodness's sake. He used to be the height of Furihata's hip. Granted, that was almost ten years ago, but _still_.

 

Izuki shrugs, a teasing grin on his face, “Kind of looked like one when he came to send you off last night, carrying you bridal-style and all.”

 

“W-wha- no way! B-bridal-style?”

 

“Yup. All to way to your bed, too.” Izuki winks.

 

Furihata groans and buries his face in his hands. How is he ever meant to face Akashi again after this? He doesn't even _remember_ half of the night, let alone the part of how he got back to his room. Who knows what else he had done to embarrass himself?

 

Izuki laughs and nudges Furihata playfully. “Come on, it's not that bad. He seems like a good kid, anyways.”

 

Furihata thinks that his definition of 'not that bad' must be drastically different from Izuki's. After all, Furihata had to be carried back to bed by a _teenager_ who is his _ex-student_ because he _got too drunk and passed out._ No. 'Not that bad' is definitely an understatement.

 

Izuki continues, “I'm actually quite surprised. His reputation makes him sound like an egotistical bastard, but he seemed decent enough when he was tucking you in.”

 

“H-he did wha-” Furihata shakes his head, deciding it is perhaps better not to know about all the details of his utter failure as a human being last night. “Eh? He has a reputation?”

 

“Oh yes. That's why his name is so familiar. Akashi Seijuuro, right? I recognized him as soon as I saw him. He's part of the Generation of Miracles group in middle and high school basketball. You've heard of them, surely?”

 

Of course Furihata's heard of them. Who _hasn't_? The Generation of Miracles and their insane talents are notorious amongst the Japanese basketball community. But Furihata never actually looked them up to find out about the individual members – all he knows is that they are a group of young and ridiculously brilliant basketball players. “A-are you serious? You mean, Akashi-kun is part of them?”

 

Izuki nods, “He's actually the Captain, I think.”

 

Furihata's jaw drops. Yes, he's well aware that Akashi is beyond exceptional, but this is taking it to a whole different level of downright _unfairness_.

 

“Apparently he's a genius Point Guard. I've seen him play in the Interhigh finals, and as a PG myself, I was super impressed.”

 

“Uwah, really...” Furihata is, too, a Point Guard. And everything may be purely coincidental, but Furihata cannot help but feel rather giddy that Akashi – who Furihata thought had probably forgotten all about him after a few years – went into a sport that Furihata loves, and plays the exact same position he plays.

 

At that point, Furihata's cell phone starts ringing. He excuses himself to pick it up, and almost drops his phone altogether when he sees the name flashing on his screen.

 

_'Akashi Seijuuro'_

 

Furihata fumbles to catch the device, telling himself to pull it together – why is he even panicking, really? – before clumsily pressing the green button. “A-ano... hello?”

 

[ _Kouki._ ]

 

Akashi's voice sounds even more mature on the phone, his voice smooth like brandy, straight to Furihata's ears.

 

“Ah, h-hai. Akashi-kun?”

 

[Yes, it's me.]

 

“H-how did you get my number?”

 

[We exchanged numbers last night. Do you not remember?]

 

“Um...” No. Furihata has absolutely no memory of that whatsoever, thank you, alcohol.

 

[I suppose that is to be expected, judging from your state of inebriation. How are you feeling?]

 

“Eh? I'm- I'm okay, thank you.” That's a lie. Furihata's head feels like it's on the verge of exploding, but Akashi doesn't need to know that. “Ano... I'm truly sorry for being a burden last night.”

 

[Not at all. Contrary, I rather enjoyed your company.]

 

“B-but, um, it was still inappropriate behavior on my part...”

 

[Don't worry yourself over it. I was the one who invited you to drink, thus technically, I am also responsible.]

 

“Y-you even had to, um, c-carry me back,” Furihata flushes, his stuttering becoming worse when he's nervous.

 

[Ah, yes. That.] Furihata can almost here the sly smirk emerging in Akashi's tone. [Well, Kouki, if it makes you feel any better, you can make it up to me.]

 

“E-eh? M-make it up to-”

 

[Meet me at my suite after you put your students to bed. I do not mind the exact time.]

 

“Huh?? A-ano...”

 

[I'll take that as a yes. See you tonight, Kouki.]

 

Akashi hangs up.

 

Furihata stares at his phone.

 

“He-hehh?!”

 

 

…

 

 

“Akashi-kun is in a good mood.”

 

Akashi likes to pretend that he's no longer taken aback when Kuroko Tetsuya randomly _appears_ out of thin air, but sometimes it is more difficult to mask his surprise. Especially when he is not prepared.

 

“Tetsuya,” Akashi calmly looks up from his mobile phone – as though he's known all along that Kuroko has been there – and nods at his former teammate. “I thought you'd be at the onsen with your Seirin Ace.”

 

“His name is Kagami-kun,” Kuroko says. “And I've discovered the hard way that I am not very compatible with onsens, so I left Kagami-kun there with Aomine-kun.”

 

Akashi tilts his head, “Your Ace with Daiki? If they start drowning each other I will place all the blame on you.”

 

“His name is Kagami-kun,” Kuroko insists. “And I'd like to believe my 'lights', both former and current, have more maturity than that. Also, I think they like each other plenty. They're just very childish about it.” He pauses, realising. “Ah. Maybe I shouldn't have left them alone after all.”

 

“Perhaps not.” Akashi agrees.

 

Kuroko raises his eyebrows slightly – Akashi must truly be in agood mood if he's easily _agreeing_ to things, instead of the usual 'yes, you should've known better' response. Not that Kuroko is complaining. Akashi in an agreeable mood is like Christmas; it doesn't come by very often and, therefore, should be celebrated.

 

As Kuroko excuses himself and drifts off back to the onsen area, he wonders whether Akashi's good mood has anything to do with the picture he was looking at on his cell phone before he realised Kuroko was there:

 

The picture of a young man with fluffy brown hair sleeping on a kotatsu table, his hand intertwined with (what Kuroko is pretty certain looks like) Akashi's own.

 


	6. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Furihata babbles when he's nervous.

They have been meeting every day for the past three days, now.

 

Furihata doesn't know how he does it, but Akashi has ways of arranging meetings that makes it near-impossible for Furihata to refuse. For example, hanging up the phone straight after assuming that Furihata has agreed, or leaving a note by his door with only the time and location specified. And Furihata, being the ever-polite person that he is, can do nothing but turn up.

 

(Technically, Furihata can choose to call Akashi to reject the invitation, but a glimpse of something he'd seen in Akashi's crimson eyes tells him that wouldn't be wise. Also, Furihata gets weirdly nervous about calling Akashi first. Like he's afraid to interrupt and intrude on Akashi's very important life through a phone call. Which, when you put it like that, sounds ridiculous, but Furihata's fear is _real_ and very apparent so he's _not_ calling Akashi unless it is absolutely necessary, okay?)

 

When Akashi was six or seven years old, Furihata had thought that Akashi's little tricks of getting him to do things for him as clever and endearing. Things like finding reasons for Furihata to bring him tofu soup, or getting Furihata to carry him home that one time after the fireworks festival. Charming, really. But now that Akashi's eighteen, Furihata is starting to realise that what Akashi had in blossoms in his youth has bloomed into full-blown advanced level _manipulation_.

 

That being said, it's not like Furihata dislikes their little meetings. In fact, Furihata finds them rather enjoyable. He likes seeing how much Akashi has grown, likes listening to Akashi talk; his expansive vocabulary, refined mannerisms, and the smooth lilt of his voice pleasant as they converse about everything and nothing – from Akashi's still-alive horse, Yukimaru; to Furihata's old basketball team; to favourite seasons, colours, flavours; to the time they went to sleep and the time they got up this morning; to the dreams they remembered and the ones they forgot.

 

Often, whilst watching Akashi do simple things like answering his phone or pouring a cup of tea, Furihata thinks to himself that Akashi really has matured into a respectable, charismatic person. And he feels a swell of pride. Furihata would like to believe that some of the qualities of the man Akashi is now is partially influenced by him.

 

...that is, excluding some of Akashi's other rather- _unique_ qualities. His manipulatory capabilities, for one. Or his habit of toying with sharp objects. Or the occasional manic gleam in his too-red eyes when he talks about victory. Furihata hardly thinks it's possible for _those_ qualities to have come from him. At least he hopes not. Furihata is quickly becoming dully aware that Akashi, whilst serene and graceful, can be pretty damn scary – no, _terrifying_ – when he wants to be. And is probably realistically capable of getting away with murder. But Furihata tends to push those thoughts to the back of his mind. 'See no evil, hear no evil', as they say.

 

Tonight, Furihata comes to Akashi's door at a half past ten, as inscribed on the tiny note that magically appeared on his breakfast tray this morning.

 

Akashi's eyes flash upon seeing him, thin lips curling into what Furihata have yet to decipher whether it is a smirk or just an extremely sly smile. A low murmur follows, “ _Ah._ ”

 

In that one syllable rings a deep note, almost a purr, of approval: 'Yes. Very good. I like that you turn up exactly as I command, every single time.'

 

Furihata shivers and doesn't know why.

 

“Let's go.” Akashi says and, without warning, thrusts a basket of soaps and shower gels into Furihata's arms before heading off down the corridor. Furihata only has a few seconds to gape in confusion before hurriedly scurrying after the trail of Akashi's yukata – charcoal black today, making Akashi's skin look luminescence in contrast.

 

Furihata catches up to him, having to take extra fast steps to keep in time with Akashi's long strides. This is new – usually they just spend the whole time in Akashi's suite, talking over late-night snacks with soft music playing from Akashi's laptop in the background. “Ano, Akashi-kun, where are we going?”

 

“The onsens, of course,” Akashi says, like he expects Furihata to already know. “You haven't been to the outdoors zone yet, have you?”

 

Furihata shakes his head. Indeed, he hasn't been. How Akashi knew, like a lot of things concerning Akashi, remains a mystery. “Ah- but isn't it already past closing hours?”

 

“It is.”

 

“Um, so...”

 

“I already told the ryokan's staff I'll be using the onsens after-hours. They keep it open for my private use.”

 

“Eh? People can do that?”

 

“ _I_ can.”

 

Furihata blinks. “Huh?”

 

“This ryokan is indebted to the Akashi group.” Akashi shrugs, casual.

 

“...I- I see.” Furihata sweat-drops. It is going to take time to reacclimatize to being around people of Akashi's caliber, definitely.

 

“Is something the matter, Kouki?” Akashi turns to look at him.

 

“Oh n-nothing! Nothing at all,” Furihata smiles sheepishly, mini-jogging to catch up with Akashi again so that they can continue walking side by side.

 

They arrive at the dressing room area when one very important factor concerning onsens suddenly hits Furihata.

 

“W-wait a minute, Akashi-kun, are you taking off _all_ your clothes?” Furihata looks down, nervous. Sure, he's been naked in front of other guys plenty of times – in public bathhouses, in the showers with his teammates – but that's in no way the same as being naked with just two people, one-on-one, in the onsens, _together_. Not to mention, he's only _just_ re-met Akashi. After ten years of being apart, aren't they pretty much back to being almost strangers in terms of intimacy of that level? Surely, Akashi feels the same-

 

“Hm? What was that, Kouki?”

 

...apparently not.

 

Furihata has to remind himself to snap shut his hanging jaw when Akashi strides out from behind the lockers _entirely_ in the nude – well, except from one small towel, which he _isn't_ using to cover himself where it actually _counts_ – pale, translucent skin all illustriously bared for Furihata's free-viewing. _Everything_ of Akashi's is in plain sight; his long neck, broad shoulders and chest, well-sculpted arms, toned abdomen, not to mention a distinct v-line that dips like an arrow straight down to his-

 

Furihata's face burns tomato-red right to his ears. He averts his eyes. Akashi has _grown,_ alright, if that one glimpse is anything to go by.

 

“You haven't undressed yet?” Akashi blinks at Furihata's still very-much-dressed state as though _he's_ the one who's surprised and not Furihata who is still trying to dart his eyes _anywhere_ but between Akashi's legs whilst struggling to contain his 'oh-my-god-he-is- _completely_ - _naked'_ facial expression. 

 

Akashi walks over in all his bare-skinned glory and casually takes the basket of soaps from Furihata's hands. “I'll go on ahead, then. I'll see you in there, yes?”

 

“...y-yes,” Furihata manages to find his voice, swallowing thickly, hands frozen in front of him like he's still holding the basket.

 

Akashi (and his perfect body) disappears out of sight, leaving Furihata to come to terms with the concept of nudity by himself. Akashi has got him feeling rather self-conscious, and a teeny-tiny bit jealous, if he is completely honest. The boy is _eighteen_ for goodness's sake, yet Akashi looks like some sort of greek _god_ whilst Furihata... he turns towards the mirror, looks at his own stripped-down form, and grimaces at the barely-there hints of muscle. He makes a mental note to visit the gym more often as he ties a small towel securely around his hips. Like hell if he has the sort of confidence to just walk around letting it all hang loose like Akashi does.

 

 

...

 

 

Akashi Seijuuro is not usually easily amused, but at the present moment, he can't help the impish grin on his lips. The look on Furihata's face when he saw him naked was priceless. The way his jaw dropped, gaping until he caught himself, those round brown eyes that widened innocently when they not-so-innocently checked him out from head to toe; the instant blush that followed, painting his cheeks bright red all the way to his ears, not to mention how desperately Furihata tried  _not_ to look but still stole glances anyways. Akashi finds it all too precious that Furihata still gives such genuine, honest reactions at the age of twenty-eight.

 

Furihata hasn't changed much after all, it seems – and Akashi cannot be more thrilled.

 

“Akashi-kun...?”

 

And there he comes, his adorable Kouki – still calling him with that irritatingly detached name, but he'll leave it be. For now. Akashi sinks down, completely submerges himself into the onsen to recompose himself, wipe the wicked grin off his face, before he re-emerges, brushing his wet hair back with his hand.

 

“Here, Kouki.” He calls, voice smooth and tranquil, as though he hasn't been chuckling to himself for the past five minutes.

 

Furihata appears around the bamboo trees, arms hugged around himself, shivering in the chilly night air. “It's f-freezing...”

 

Furihata has a tan, Akashi notes – not in the obvious way that Aomine is tanned, but more like a subtle bronze of someone who's occasionally been in the sun. It suits him well, Akashi thinks.

 

Akashi invites him over to a hidden miniature cove within the onsen surrounded by rocks. It had been Takao who first found the spot, courtesy to his Hawk Eyes, with his chirpy voice calling 'Shin-chan, Shin-chan, look what I found!'. Midorima Shintarou, aka: 'Shin-chan' – Akashi is forever amused by the nickname – had narrowed his eyes at him, mumbling that Takao was being far too loud even as he went over to him anyways. Admittedly, it _is_ a good spot for various reasons – which is why Akashi has chosen it now.

 

Only the best for his favourite, after all.

 

“Ah- this is nice,” Furihata sighs as he slides to sit next to Akashi – just close enough to be within arms' reach but too far for any skin contact to be considered unintentional. “I've never been to an onsen when it's this quiet before.”

 

“No?” Akashi tilts his head, interested.

 

“Mm. Public onsens are always filled with other people, I guess. It's a lot more peaceful like this.”

 

“Indeed. I much prefer the privacy of the onsens after-hours.”

 

“Hehh,” Furihata sinks down further into the water, gazing upwards to the night sky as he muses, “Must be nice, dating someone like Akashi-kun.”

 

Akashi sharply turns his head to stare at him. “What makes you say that?”

 

“Eh? Well, all of this-” Furihata spreads his hands out before him, “- _exclusive_ -ness would be nice for couples, I think. I can imagine any girlfriend being happy with getting special alone time like this.”

 

“Do _you_ have a girlfriend, Kouki?”

 

“H-huh?” Furihata startles, turning to look at Akashi – only to be met with piercing red eyes boring straight back, unblinking. Furihata feels his throat going dry, “Um... n-not at the present moment.”

 

“I see.” Akashi nods, and there is that ring of approval again – a note of satisfaction – which makes Furihata feel slightly skittish.

 

“A-ano, what about you, then, Akashi-kun?” Furihata asks, curious.

 

“I'm not currently in a relationship with anyone, no.”

 

“Wha-? How come?” Furihata blinks, surprised. “I would've thought Akashi-kun would be super popular!”

 

“Popular?” Akashi repeats, raising an eyebrow at him, “Why would I be?”

 

“Eh? Um, there's a lot of reasons...” Furihata shifts under Akashi's intense gaze.

 

“Oh?” Akashi's lips quirk, “I'd like to hear them.”

 

“A-ano, well-” Furihata clears his throat, “Akashi-kun's very smart, for one. And also amazing at basketball. But I'm sure you've heard that plenty before.”

 

Akashi nods, “The occasional comment, yes. Go on.”

 

“Um, Akashi-kun is well-spoken, with very good mannerisms – a gentleman with the ladies, I'm sure,” He pauses, thinking. “Oh, also, Akashi-kun's incredibly mature. With the vibe of a leader. Like, charisma, I suppose?”

 

“Mm-hm. Is that all?”

 

“E-ehh, I'm sure there are loads more, but at the top of my head- ah, there is one more thing, I guess.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Akashi-kun is, um, how should I say this...” Furihata's cheeks are the slightest bit pink at this point – but that might just be the heat of the onsen. “...like, handsome? Or, actually, I think 'pretty' is more accurate.”

 

“ _Pretty?”_ Akashi repeats, incredulously. Now _that_ was one he doesn't hear very often, or at all.

 

“Ah! I meant in a good way, really!” Furihata clarifies, “I mean- your eyelashes, and your skin, and eyes and lips and nose... just, your overall facial features, really. I think they're very pretty.”

 

Akashi blinks, “...I suppose I shall take that as a compliment, so thank you.”

 

“Um, you're also very manly, too, don't worry!” Furihata quickly says, “L-like, your body is _unbelievable_ \- um, not that I've been checking you out- I mean looking- I mean, I _have_ looked, but it's not intentional- not because there's anything unsightly about it, of course! But, um, so I _have_ seen it – but it's not in a creepy way, I swear! Ah-” By the time Furihata catches himself he is already blushing right down to the nape of his neck, “A-ano... I'm sorry, I've just made this very awkward, haven't I?”

 

“Not at all,” Akashi shakes his head, amused.

 

Furihata buries his face into his hands, “Ahh- I'm so embarrassed!”

 

“Don't be,” Akashi reassures him, chuckling. “I'm flattered you think so highly of me.”

 

Furihata makes a squeaky noise in his throat, still too embarrassed too lift his face up to meet Akashi.

 

Akashi watches him and, after a moment, says, “I think Kouki is far more prettier, actually.”

 

Furihata does lift his head at that, “H-huh? Wha- _no way_.”

 

“I mean it,” Akashi has moved closer, Furihata doesn't know since when, but all of a sudden Akashi is so close to him their knees are almost brushing. Close enough to feel the heat from his skin. “Do you not believe me?”

 

“U-um, it's kinda hard to believe-”

 

“Well, do. Because I think you're incredibly pretty,” Akashi's eyes are locked onto him and Furihata cannot escape. “Your eyes are like goblets of butterscotch. Your skin is the colour of caramel milk, and when you blush, it turns the colour of red peonies. Has no one ever told you?”

 

“Ah- n-no, um...”

 

“Not to mention your smile is possibly the purest, most genuine thing I have ever seen,” Akashi's gaze on him is intense, now, and it's a strange, almost-physical hold on him even though their skins aren't touching at all.

 

Furihata feels his throat constrict and tighten. “A-ano... p-please stop, Akashi-kun. Really. I'm not-”

 

“You're beautiful, Kouki.” Akashi says – and it's a simple, straightforward sentence, like he's talking about something as natural as the weather.

 

And yet Furihata finds himself entirely unable to breathe.

 

“...Kouki, are you alright?” Akashi inquires when he notices the lack of response from Furihata, like he has frozen in place.

 

Furihata cannot answer immediately, dazed and overwhelmed – whether by the heat of the onsens, or by Akashi's words, or just by being looked at so vehemently through those crimson orbs, he doesn't know. His vision is becoming hazy, clouded by dark, rapidly multiplying flashing spots.

 

“Kouki?” Akashi repeats, concerned.

 

“I- I think...” Furihata manages weakly, “...I think I'm about to faint.”

 

The last thing Furihata remembers is Akashi's voice calling his name before darkness overtakes his vision completely.

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata wakes up to find himself tucked in bed, wrapped like a cocoon in a duvet which smells distinctly like Akashi mixed with the clean scent of fresh laundry.

 

Across the room is Akashi in person, typing away on his laptop. At the sound of Furihata shuffling inside the blanket, his red eyes flit up from the screen.

 

“You're awake,” Akashi observes, putting away his laptop before he comes over to sit on the bed next to Furihata. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Um- slightly dizzy,” Furihata admits. “How- how did I- where are we?”

 

“My bedroom. I carried you back here after you fainted in the onsen.”

 

Furihata feels heat rise to his cheeks. This is already the second time in three days that Akashi has to take care of him, and even worse this time since Furihata was likely half-naked for a lot of it. He suddenly becomes aware of the fact that he's dressed in a yukata which is not his own, and blushes harder imagining Akashi dressing him. “A-ano... I'm really, _really_ so sorry for the trouble, Akashi-kun.”

 

“Don't worry about it.”

 

It's hard not to, but Furihata has learnt it's best to leave it at that. “Uh- what time is it, by the way?”

 

Akashi glances at his watch, “Just past two in the morning.”

 

“ _Ehh?!_ ” Furihata springs up to sit and instantly regrets it when he feels a rush of lightheadedness, making him woozy.

 

Akashi grabs his shoulder to steady him, frowning. “What are you doing?”

 

Akashi's hand is _warm,_ Furihata thinks, unusually so. Looking at his frown, for a moment Furihata sees a double-vision of Akashi's younger self, with his little red brows tied together in a knot, before he blinks it away. “I- um, it's really late, I should get back-”

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Akashi reprimands, “You are not going anywhere with the state you're in. You're barely capable of sitting up straight, let alone walking.”

 

“B-but I need to get up early tomorrow, and-”

 

“So I'll wake you.”

 

“Eh? But I- I really shouldn't impose-”

 

“Hush. Lie down.” The hand on Furihata's shoulder is squeezing down firmly.

 

Furihata rolls in his lips, “A-ano...”

 

“ _Kouki_.” Akashi's voice is strict, commanding. “Enough. Lie down.” The tone permits no arguments.

 

Akashi's eyes are deeper in the light of the night, almost maroon when they look at him with such intensity, and Furihata can do nothing but nod meekly. “...o-okay.”

 

The strong grip of Akashi's clamp on his shoulder presses him back down onto the bed. Akashi then readjusts the duvet so that it's properly covering Furihata to his neck. Furihata blinks up at him, watching him and thinking how ironic it is that Akashi is the one to tuck him into bed now when ten years before their roles were reversed. Seeing Akashi take care of people is a strange act in itself, actually – like watching a prince perform household chores; a rare privilege, and Furihata feels humbled to be treated by it.

 

“Akashi-kun,” Furihata calls, just as Akashi is switching off the bedside lamp.

 

“Yes?” The room is dark, now, and it makes Akashi's serene voice seem much more pronounced. Louder. Furihata can hear more clearly the undertones, his breathing, everything.

 

“Where are you going to sleep, if I'm taking up your bed?”

 

There is a pause. Thinking, Furihata assumes.

 

When Akashi doesn't answer after a while, Furihata realises what Akashi's intention is – and frowns. “Please don't tell me you plan on watching over me all night.”

 

He hears Akashi's sigh in the dark, “I will sleep in the morning after you leave.”

 

“Eh? But, Akashi-kun, that's-”

 

“Sleep, Kouki.” He cuts him off, and Furihata can hear sounds of Akashi's footsteps moving away from the bed.

 

Furihata lets the words leave his lips before he can stop himself, “You can sleep with me.”

 

Akashi's footsteps come to a dead stop.

 

Furihata quickly speaks, realising what he has just said, “Ah-! That is- um- I mean, like, o-on the same bed, uh- i-if you don't mind, of course. I mean, it is Akashi-kun's bed, anyways, and- and it's big enough, and I wouldn't feel good about stealing your place to sleep for the night, and, um...” He trails off, chewing on his lips and feeling embarrassed even though he knows for certain his offer is innocent and not at all meant in a suggestive way – why would it be, anyways? That would be bizarre not to mention completely inappropriate for his position. He shouldn't even be _thinking_ of things remotely related to that, where Akashi is concerned.

 

Yet, Furihata feels as flustered as though he has actually just given Akashi an invitation to 'sleep' with him – and the more the silence stretches out, the more awkward he feels.

 

“U-um... Akashi-kun?” Furihata mumbles, part-muffled by the duvet.

 

A warm hand touches his forehead, and Furihata jolts slightly, surprised by Akashi's unexpected proximity. The hand then gently strokes his hair once, twice, before the warmth leaves him altogether and all that Furihata has left of Akashi is the hint of his scent laced within the duvet, and his tranquil voice, speaking in the dark.

 

“Goodnight, Kouki.”

 

...and Furihata squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to sleep – hoping that maybe it will calm the unexplainable pounding of his heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where the fic is up to on ff.net - the next chapter will be brand new content now and hopefully I can manage to get it out by next weekend. Thank you for all the support for this fic thus far - it is very much appreciated :)


	7. My Little Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Furihata hides under a bar table.

There is something tickling his cheek.

 

Furihata, still half-asleep with his eyes closed, frowns and tries to roll away but that ‘something’ follows him, the touch becoming firmer on his face. Furihata grumbles in complaint, drowsily trying to swat away whatever it is that is bothering him, but all that does is earn him a sharp pinch on his other cheek instead.

 

“Hnnn-” Furihata whines, almost childishly, pulling the duvet covers over his head to escape from the disturbance. It works, and Furihata sighs in relief as his cheeks are finally left in peace.

 

It takes a full minute before Furihata notices that someone is chuckling beside him.

 

“Huh…?” He slowly peeks from beneath the duvet, eyes half-lidded as they try to adjust to the morning light.

 

“Good morning, Kouki,” Akashi Seijuuro greets him from the side of the bed with an amused expression.

 

“Akashi-kun-!” Furihata’s eyes fly wide open, instantaneously awake and he springs up into a sitting position as he quickly realizes where he is. “Um, w-what time is it?”

 

“A few minutes until eight. Relax, Kouki, you have about an hour until you’re meant to meet with your students,” Akashi leans closer to inspect Furihata’s face with too-wide red orbs, “You’re feeling better?”

 

“Ah- um, yes. Much better, thank you,” Furihata nods, self consciously bringing a hand up to check for any drool he may have at the corners of his lips – internally sighing when there thankfully is none.

 

“Good,” Akashi nods, leaning back in his chair.

 

“How long-” Furihata yawns and rubs at his eyes, “How long have you been sitting there?”

 

Akashi raises his brows, not replying.

 

Furihata turns to look at him inquisitively, “Akashi-kun?”

 

Akashi stands, a serene smile on his lips. “I’ll go fetch you a glass of water. It’s good to drink right after you wake up.”

 

Furihata watches him go, frowning as he wonders exactly how long Akashi has been watching him. He couldn’t have possibly watched over him all night, could he? Oh no, what if Akashi was watching him and he was snoring? That would be embarrassing. But if Akashi hasn’t been watching him then where did he sleep? Hopefully not on the chair, Furihata will never get over the guilt if he made Akashi sleep in an uncomfortable chair by stealing his bed. But if not the chair then…

 

Furihata stares at the space on the bed beside him, but the whole bed was too messy to determine whether or not someone else has been sleeping there. Curious, Furihata picks up the pillow next to him and brings it to his nose, breathing in. The scent of sandalwood and spice and something fresh and uniquely Akashi touches his nose – but then again, the whole bed smells like Akashi so it doesn’t really mean that Akashi has slept-

 

“What are you doing, Kouki?” Akashi blinks at him from the bathroom door, a glass of water in his hand.

 

“Nothing!” Furihata hurriedly puts the pillow down and smiles sheepishly. He sincere hopes Akashi doesn’t think he’s some sort of weirdo stalker sniffing around his pillows – which, admittedly, is exactly what Furihata was doing, but it’s not like _that._

“I see,” Akashi nods.

 

‘See’? See what? Furihata is feeling slightly flustered at this point and doesn’t really know why. He thought he’s over the whole awkward stuttering phase in high school, but apparently not. Something in the way Akashi’s intensely red eyes looks at him just brings out the gawky teenager all over again. From the excessively clumsy first meeting, to getting so drunk he had to be carried back to bed, to fainting in the onsen and having to be carried to bed _again_ … Akashi’s impression of him must be disastrous.

 

And it strikes Furihata then that he actually cares a whole lot what Akashi thinks of him. Of course he does. After not meeting someone for so long, all anyone wants is to leave a good impression – but Furihata is slowly recognizing that, maybe, he cares a little more than to be expected. Perhaps it’s because Akashi is technically his very first student, and his most memorable one at that; or because Akashi is Akashi with his impressive portfolio of achievements that is impossible to compete with.

 

Whatever it is, Furihata just doesn’t want to- _disappoint_ him, he supposes. Not when Akashi – the perfect, outstanding individual that he is – looks at him the way he does.

 

Fondly. Appreciatively. Like Furihata is his favourite person in the entire planet. Like no one else can be as special. Which Furihata finds both bizarre and exhilarating at the same time.

 

Even now, those crimson eyes are looking at him with a depth that makes Furihata’s head feel all fuzzy and strange.

 

“Here, have a drink,” Akashi offers him a glass of water.

 

Their fingers brush when Furihata reaches to take the glass from him, causing both of them to pause. Furihata’s eyes flit up to meet Akashi’s then, and the sheer intensity of his gaze forces Furihata to look away.

 

Akashi’s fingers linger just a millisecond longer than necessary before he lets go and the fuzzy and strange feeling spreads to Furihata’s chest, a lurch behind his sternum.

 

“T-thank you,” Furihata says, and is surprised at how small his voice comes out. He takes a sip of water, keeping his eyes downwards and anywhere but Akashi’s face.

 

Akashi watches him; is staring at him. Furihata doesn’t even need to look at him to know. It’s almost like he can physically sense Akashi’s gaze burning his skin right through him.

 

“You’ve always done that,” Furihata murmurs quietly, almost to himself.

 

Akashi tilts his head, “Done what?”

 

“Stare,” Furihata fiddles with his fingers, “Maybe it’s just the way Akashi-kun’s eyes works, but even when you were little you’d always stare.”

 

Akashi considers this. “Some of my teammates have told me that, too.”

 

“Oh?” Furihata inquires, still not looking up.

 

“They tell me I stare at people like I’m about to murder them.” Akashi says, flatly.

 

“E-eh?”

 

“And that it’s not very nice.”

 

“W-well, I suppose it wouldn’t be-”

 

“But it’s not the same with you.”

 

Furihata does look up, then. “No?”

 

Akashi’s red orbs are dead-set on him, his pupils wider and deeper than Furihata has seen before – bottomless, like looking down into a wine-coloured ocean. “No, it’s not the same at all.”

 

Furihata swallows. “H-how so?”

 

“I don’t usually stare. More often it is that I am merely observing, taking in the minor details of a particular subject. It’s a common misinterpretation. I am aware my eyes can have that effect. But when I do actually stare, it is with purpose – to intimidate, for example, or to ensure my point gets across.” Akashi muses, before letting his gaze fall back on Furihata once again, “You, however, are an exception.”

 

Furihata wants to look away but he can’t. Akashi’s eyes have him locked, like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web, and he is unable to escape.

 

“I admit I do stare at you, but it is not for those aforementioned reasons.”

 

Then _why_? Furihata is desperate to know but too afraid to ask.

 

Akashi smiles, a small quirk of his lips that is both sly and yet manages to be insanely attractive at the same time, “I suppose you can say that my eyes crave you.”

 

Furihata’s heart flipped. His brain temporarily short-circuits and he blinks rapidly, not processing the information. “W-wha-?”

 

“It’s been ten years, Kouki,” Akashi slowly reaches towards him with one hand, “Ten years and far too long. Is it really so baffling that I have an insatiable need to look at you, to reacquaint my sight to you, to rememorize all the details of you as much as possible?”

 

Akashi’s hand is closing in on his face, now, his fingers opening like a claw – and for one absurd moment Furihata thinks Akashi might clasp his neck and choke him with how intently he is looking at him. But Furihata resists the urge to flinch away. Or, rather, he is trapped and physically cannot move even if he wants to.

 

“My eyes are starved of your sight and it’s your fault,” The hand closes in and Akashi pinches Furihata’s cheek – a familiar punishment from long ago. “Take responsibility, Kouki.”

 

And all of a sudden Furihata feels just as woozy and lightheaded as he has been in the onsen all over again. Only worse.

 

Only this time he knows for certain that it is not the heat of the water that is making him breathless.

 

…

 

 

Furihata Kouki is avoiding him.

 

Akashi doesn’t know why – which is frustrating, because Akashi is practically omniscient and _always_ knows why – but he is sure of it. It’s been one whole day after the night Furihata stayed over in his room and Akashi haven’t seen the slightest glimpse of Furihata since he left.

 

It isn’t like Furihata is completely shutting him out, either. He still picks up Akashi’s calls but only to politely decline Akashi’s plans to meet up, giving this excuse and that about him being busy with the students’ expedition before quickly excusing himself. Too quickly. Furihata’s stuttering is also particularly bad during these phone calls. Too obvious. Does he really think Akashi won’t be able to tell?

 

The issue is that Akashi has no clue what brought on this avoidance. Furihata had seemed fine the morning after the sleepover – _more_ than fine, actually. Akashi had woken him up, just as he promised, and the atmosphere between them was nothing but warm and pleasant; with too-long lingering eye contact at the door that made Akashi want to pull Furihata right back inside and never let him go anywhere out of sight.

 

And Akashi is positive the look he saw in Furihata’s eyes then didn’t look like Furihata wanted to leave, either.

 

So why was he avoiding him now?

 

“Hm,” Akashi taps his index finger impatiently on the breakfast table, ruminating over all the possibilities in his head. He realizes he’s over-analyzing, but he cannot stop himself. Akashi _hated_ not knowing. Ever since he was a child it would annoy him to no end whenever someone refused to tell him something or withheld information from him. His father, in particular, is the usual offender.

 

Furihata, on the other hand, has always been honest. Apart from that one time with the whole leaving for university deal, Furihata never hid anything from him. It was – _is_ – part of why Akashi liked spending so much time with him. For someone who has been raised to be fluent in manipulation, the honesty is like a breath of fresh air.

 

It is unsurprising, then, that Akashi is not in the best of moods when his favourite brand of fresh air is taken away from him without reason. It _bothers_ him; not only because Akashi cannot figure out what’s going on but also because, once again, Furihata is seemingly slipping away from his grasp without warning. And Akashi will be damned if he lets history repeat itself – especially not after _ten_ _years_ of regretting ever letting go of Furihata the first time. The tapping on the table increased in frequency as his mood worsened, his breakfast plate lying untouched before him.

 

Most of the Generation of Miracles members can sense the storm brooding over their previous Captain from a mile away and kept their distance. Midorima, having been most-exposed to Akashi, senses the danger the moment he enters the restaurant and wisely chooses a table out of Akashi’s way – one lucky item and one Takao Kazunari intact, as the shorter boy is stuck to Midorima like a koala to a eucalyptus tree. Which is just as well, because it saves Midorima from having to spend any effort to ‘subtly’ ensure that Takao is kept safe from the potential eruption.

 

Kuroko, of course, is observant enough to notice Akashi’s sour mood, and makes use of his lack of presence, disappearing away and taking a slightly confused Kagami – plus his massive Mt Everest of a food tray – with him.

 

Murasakibara, through first-hand experience with Akashi’s rage, also takes the hint fairly quickly. He intelligently decides that Midorima is the one to follow in this critical situation and picks a seat on the same table as his green-haired teammate; Himuro by his side and collectively shielded away from Akashi’s view with Murasakibara’s excessively large frame.

 

Kise is a little more oblivious than the rest of them and makes the mistake of sitting on the same table as Akashi. Luckily, the blonde pretty-boy is perceptive enough to be able to tell that something is not quite alright with their ex-Captain and has enough sense not to provoke or engage him in conversation.

 

Unfortunately, in every “most” there is an exception; in this case, one Ace of the Generation of Miracles.

 

Aomine Daiki is many things – tall, tanned, feral; he’s a baseball prodigy already pinned by the NBA to be scouted the second he steps foot out of graduation ceremony – however, reading the atmosphere and self-preservation are regrettably not amongst his more dominant traits.

 

“Yo, Akashi, what’s up with the pissy look? Are you on your period or something?” Aomine casually says, yawning lazily as he seats himself on the same table and starts on his breakfast.

 

Kise gapes at him, eyes darting rapidly between Aomine and Akashi; whose finger has stopped tapping and is sitting _very_ still. Not a good sign. Aomine fails to notice, being too focused on his food to note how unnervingly silent the restaurant has fallen.

 

Aomine ignores Kise’s little nudges from under the table – it’s still too early in the morning and Aomine is honestly starving and, really, they’ve been pawing at each other all night so Kise can at least wait for Aomine to finish eating to play footsie, damn it. Sure, Kise’s hot as hell and Aomine will gladly be all over his sexy blonde ass most occasions, but there’s a time and place for everything and right now food is what Aomine’s body needs. Priorities.

 

It doesn’t occur to Aomine at all why all of the GoM are staring at him or why everyone is sitting on separate tables. That is, until Kise hushes a panicked “Aominecchi!” at him, elbowing him in the ribcage, and Aomine _finally_ looks up from his breakfast.

 

“Damn it, Kise, what-” Aomine pauses mid-sentence when he meets Akashi’s blood red glare smack-bang straight on.

 

Akashi is smiling, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.

 

And Aomine shudders, because he recognizes the smile. It’s the kind of peaceful, poised smile Akashi does right before he stabs someone in the eyeball with a pair of scissors.

 

“Care to repeat what you’ve just said to me?” Akashi says, voice the epitome of serenity. However, the golden glint in his left eye is anything but reassuring. “ _Daiki_?”

 

Aomine swallows.

 

 

“Rest in peace, Aomine-kun.” Kuroko murmurs solemnly from afar.

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata Kouki has a little problem.

 

Or, more accurately, his problem used to be little – very little, in fact, so little that the problem’s head used to only be around Furihata’s hip and adorably couldn’t reach door bells and had to stand on crates to peek into windows with abnormally large red eyes.

 

But now, the previously little problem – which didn’t use to be a problem at all – has grown. It has grown into this mature, fully-developed manly man of a problem with the smoothest voice and a handsome smile and an addictive scent that makes Furihata’s head spin and he has completely no idea what to do with himself.

 

Because this problem goes by the name of Akashi Seijuuro. _The_ Akashi Seijuuro who is not only impossibly talented, practically a genius, and miles and miles out of his league; but who is also ten years Furihata’s junior, _and_ male, _and_ barely legal, _and_ has a bright and shining future ahead of him, and yet he looks at Furihata like he’s the freaking sun and it makes Furihata go all jittery and gloopy inside and- and Furihata absolutely _cannot_ have a crushon a _child_ he raised, for heaven’s sake.

 

But he does.

 

There’s no use denying it. Furihata is twenty-eight and has lived long enough and has experienced enough to recognize his feelings for the beginnings of what they are. He is not about to go around fooling himself like some naïve teenage boy. He’s done enough of that back in his early years of university and the experience has been a whole load of cringe-worthy awkwardness Furihata would prefer not to repeat, thank you very much.

 

Still, admitting to the fact doesn’t mean that it’s any easier to accept. Or that it’s any easier to deal with. But as the mature, twenty-eight years old adult that he is, Furihata is determined to manage the situation in a most composed and sensible manner.

 

“Furihata-sensei?” His co-worker is looking at him with a peculiar expression.

 

“Yes, Izuki-sensei?”

 

“Are you playing hide-and-seek with the students?”

 

“Eh? No, I’m not.” Furihata shakes his head, quizzically, “Why do you ask?”

 

Izuki raises a brow, looking amused, “…because you’re a grown man who’s hiding under a bar table?”

 

Ah- right. About that.

 

It was during breakfast time and Furihata was just about to leave the restaurant when he spotted Akashi walking in. In a moment of panic, Furihata followed the best plan he could’ve come up with on the spot – that is, obscuring himself under the nearest large object in his vicinity (in this case, the restaurant’s bar table); like a child in trouble hiding away from their parents.

 

So much for composed and sensible.

 

“Oh- this? Um.” He scans the restaurant thoroughly before eventually crawling out from under the table, brushing off his trousers self-consciously. Furihata’s smile is sheepish. “Ano… please let’s pretend you’ve never seen me doing that?”

 

“Sure,” Izuki shrugs, “How long have you been sitting there, though?”

 

Furihata clears his throat, “Uh… a while.”

 

And by “a while” he means at least an hour since he’s last seen Akashi. He just wanted to make sure that Akashi was really gone before he even tries to evacuate – because the only thing worse than failing at avoiding Akashi is to be caught right in the act of it. God, just the thought of that makes Furihata want to bury his head in his hands.

 

“I have a question.” Izuki says as they make their way back to the students. “About the whole hiding under the table thing.”

 

Furihata nods uncertainly, “O-okay. Ask away, sensei.”

 

“Was it something to do with Akashi Seijuuro?”

 

“Eh?!” Furihata trips over his feet, skittering about three and a half steps before managing to save himself from falling flat on his face. “Um, w-why do you ask?”

 

Izuki looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Because you just fell for him?”

 

Furihata’s heart drops to his ankles. “W-wha-?”

 

Izuki blinks at him, “It’s a joke. Because you tripped. You know, like, you just fell. Literally.”

 

“Oh.” Furihata sighs in relief. “I see.”

 

“And also because I ran into him earlier and he asked about you.” Izuki shrugs.

 

“Wha- wait you- he-” Furihata fumbles for words, “W-what did you say?”

 

“That you’re hiding away from him under a table,” Izuki grins.

 

Furihata’s jaw actually drops open.

 

Izuki bursts out laughing, “I’m kidding! I just found you, remember? I told him I haven’t seen you all morning.”

 

“Oh.” Furihata lets out a deep exhale, “R-right.”

 

Izuki watches him with knowing eyes, “So it _is_ about Akashi Seijuuro. You’re avoiding Akashi Seijuuro.”

 

“Can we please not say his name repeatedly?” Furihata glances around himself cautiously.

 

“Pfft-” Izuki chuckles, “You’re acting like he’s some sort of dark lord who’ll appear on calling. I thought you two were getting along, what with your daily catch up sessions and all. What happened? Did you piss him off or something? I mean it’d be understandable why you’re hiding from him if that’s the case. He does have a bit of a reputation, y’know, especially when he was younger.”

 

“Oh, no, it’s not like that. We didn’t fight or anything,” Furihata shakes his head, “What happened when he was younger?”

 

“Rumour has it he gouged out someone’s eyeball,” Izuki shrugs casually.

 

“He did-!” Furihata catches himself when he notices the twinkle in Izuki’s eyes. He pouts, “Not funny, senpai.”

 

It’s particularly un-funny when it’s so easily believable. Furihata doesn’t doubt for a second that Akashi is capable of executing a perfectly concealed attack. Even less funny, however, is how Furihata still very much has a crush on Akashi despite acknowledging that.

 

As if Akashi being male, ten years younger, and being his ex-student don’t raise enough red flags; now we have a sprinkle of psychopathic tendencies thrown into the mix as well. Furihata feels the urge to bang his head against the wall.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Izuki laughs, not looking the least bit sorry. “But, jokes aside, why are you avoiding him?”

 

“That is-” Furihata rolls in his lips. “It’s- complicated.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Izuki nods slowly, unconvinced. “Alright, I won’t pry. I guess it’s good we’re leaving today then, so you’ll find it easier to avoid him. You know, without having to hide under tables and all.”

 

“You’re never going to let that go, aren’t you?”

 

“Nope.” Izuki grins.

 

Furihata sighs, “I’m leaving. The students need some checking up before the bus leaves.”

 

“Aw, don’t be mad, Furi-sensei.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

And he isn’t. Not at Izuki, anyways. If Furihata’s mad at anyone he’s mad at himself for being so easily swept away. And maybe he’s a little mad at Akashi, too, for simply being too goddamn attractive. And charismatic. And charming and enthralling and far too handsome with those peculiar eyes that Furihata can get lost in for days on end and-

 

“Ouch-!”

 

“Whoa!”

 

-and Furihata is getting so bad he’s practically daydreaming about Akashi in the middle of the day and bumping into people because of it. This whole crush ordeal is getting out of control and Furihata has to get ahold of himself. Right now.

 

“Ah- I’m very sorry! I didn’t even see you there,” Furihata starts apologizing to the boy he bumped into. He bends down to help gather the belongings that fell out of his bag, pausing momentarily to notice that the boy has a rather strange pale shade of blue hair. It’s actually almost the exact opposite of Akashi’s hair colour, especially when it gets damp and becomes a darker red, like that time when they were in the onsen together and-

 

-and Furihata seriously has to _stop._ Thinking about Akashi’s hair and Akashi being half-naked next to him in steamy hot springs is _not_ helping.

 

“It’s alright. It’s not your fault.” The boy shakes his head, his voice quiet. “This happens to me a lot. I’m used to it.”

 

“Eh? Really?” Furihata blinks. Is there such a thing as being used to being ran into?

 

“Yes,” The boy nods, deadpan. “I’ve been told I lack presence.”

 

“That’s- um, that’s kinda mean.” Even though Furihata has to admit it’s true. He didn’t even see the boy until right when they collided.

 

“It’s alright. It’s useful in my case, at any rate.” He says, as he stuffs the last item back into his bag.

 

Furihata doesn’t really understand what he means by that, but he doesn’t get a chance to ask when all of a sudden a dark-haired boy comes bouncing their way and slots himself right in between them.

 

“Kuroko, there you are! You did that disappearing ghost-like thing again so Shin-chan sent me and my Hawk eyes looking for you,” The newcomer casually slings an arm around ‘Kuroko’s’ shoulder before turning to look at Furihata. “Oh, hello, is this someone you know?”

 

“We’ve just met, Takao-kun. We bumped into each other just now.” Kuroko says.

 

“Ooh, another one already? That’s the third time today! Gotta be some sort of record.”

 

“Ah, it’s actually my fault. I bumped into him,” Furihata lowers his head apologetically, “Again, I’m really sorry. I’ve always been awfully clumsy.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too worried. It’s common for people to walk into Kuroko – clumsy or otherwise,” The boy named ‘Takao’ says, grinning in a way that strangely reminds Furihata of Izuki. “See, he has this cool invisibility thing going on so people don’t generally notice him. Unless they’re me, of course, because I have special powers.”

 

“I- I see,” Furihata cannot help but ask, “Special powers?”

 

“Yup. Right here, in my eyes.” Takao points at his eyes and winks, “Very special. I’m the only one. Right, Kuroko?”

 

“Yes,” Kuroko replies in monotone, “That is, unless Kise-kun can copy it.”

 

It’s almost comical the way the two boys contrast. Takao is like a bursting bubble of energy whilst Kuroko’s energy is more akin to a wall.  

 

“Ooh, I never thought of that. I’ll ask him to try sometime – would be interesting to see if he can actually do it, ne?”

 

“I would assume that Kise-kun’s ability does not extend that far since Takao-kun was likely born with eyes with a wider scope of vision rather than having obtained it as a skill. Kise-kun is limited to copying skills so your eyes would not fall under that category. That being said, Kise-kun has exceeded expectations before.”

 

Furihata doesn’t really comprehend what they’re talking about but just watching them interact is quite intriguing. Absentmindedly, he wonders how such different personalities came to become friends.

 

“True, true. The Perfect Copy thing definitely surprised me. You gen of miracles all have your own superpowers, though – it’s kind of annoying, honestly.” Takao chuckles.

 

“Mm. From an opponent’s perspective, I would agree.”

 

“Shin-chan’s powers are especially annoying, heh. Don’t get me wrong, Kise’s copy-cat thing is cool. And everyone knows all the rave about Aomine – but Shin-chan’s three pointers? Ugh. I don’t know whether to be awed or disgusted by that level of talent. So unfair.”

 

“Kagami-kun is rather unfair, too.” Kuroko nods, “But I personally find the most unfair one to be Akashi-kun.”

 

“Psh, oh yeah, Akashi’s insane. In more ways than one.”

 

Furihata, who has been drifting off in his own thoughts until that point, promptly chokes on his own saliva.

 

The two boys turn to look at him.

 

“Are you okay?” Kuroko tilts his head, looking mildly concerned.

 

“Y-yes,” Furihata coughs. “Ano, if you don’t mind me asking… you mentioned someone named Akashi-kun, so I was just wondering, um- what’s his full name?”

 

How common is the name Akashi? As far as Furihata knows the Akashi group is massive and has many minor families branching out under the main family Furihata is familiar with. Surely, this means there must be other Akashis around. It can’t be the same person, right? It’d be too much of a coincidence. A cruel joke.

 

But the longer Furihata tries to process everything the two boys have said the more likely it seems that it is indeed the one and only Akashi he has been avoiding – what with their conversation about basketball, not to mention their age group seems to be around Akashi’s as well. But still, Furihata clings onto the remaining pieces of hope that maybe, just maybe, he might be wrong.

 

Kuroko looks at him with blank eyes, “Akashi Seijuuro. Why?”

 

Oh, no.

 

No, this cannot be happening. Furihata has so far managed to successfully avoid Akashi for one and a half days and that is _not_ a small feat. He is not about to ruin all his efforts right when he’s about to leave Kinosaki and be miles and miles away from Akashi and all the inappropriate feelings he induces.

 

The one time Furihata wishes he’s wrong, he’s not. Just his luck, really.

 

“Um- I- I have to go,” Furihata begins backing away. If these two are Akashi’s friends then it’s likely that Akashi himself is somewhere near and Furihata is not willing to take any risks – not when he’s so close to making a clean escape without having to explain to Akashi why.

 

It might make him seem like a coward but it’s just easier this way. It’s easier to not think about Akashi if he’s not around with his hypnotic eyes and voice like brandy.

 

Truth be told, Furihata hates avoiding Akashi – it’s only been over a day and already he misses their conversations, misses the way Akashi listens to his every word and makes him feel like they matter. He hates saying no to Akashi’s invitations, hates not being able to learn more about Akashi’s life during all the time they’ve been apart. There is still so much he doesn’t know, so much Akashi has yet to tell him. But Furihata has to do it. He has to stop seeing him for a while – at least until he can face Akashi again without his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest.

 

It’s easier to cut off his feelings now before they even have the chance to grow, after all.

 

Furihata steps back and bumps into something solid.

 

“Ah-! Sorry, I-” Furihata turns. And freezes on the spot.

 

And he curses his luck because _of course_ that something solid has to be Akashi Seijuuro in the flesh.

 

Akashi’s composure is calm, but one look at those slightly narrowed crimson eyes staring him down and Furihata knows Akashi is not at all impressed with him at this moment. He remembers. Akashi hasn’t changed in the way his eyes gave subtle cues to his mood; and narrowed eyes generally means Furihata is in trouble.

 

“Running away from something, _Kouki_?”

 

Deep trouble, too, if that icy voice is anything to go by.

 

“A-Akashi-kun,” Furihata tries his hardest to keep his tone light. “L-long time no see.”

 

Akashi ignores his attempt at casual conversation completely. “Come with me.”

 

With the command in Akashi’s voice, Furihata has no other choice but to meekly nod. “O-okay.”

 

Kuroko and Takao look on with sympathetic eyes as they watch Furihata trailing after Akashi as though he is on an imaginary leash.

 

When the two of them are out of sight, Takao gives Kuroko a nudge. “Ne, so, Akashi’s the reason why you purposefully bumped into that guy?”

 

Kuroko gives him a blank look, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Takao-kun. He bumped into me.”

 

“Nah, I saw you. You were intentionally standing close to him – with your lack of presence you knew he was going to run into you.”

 

“If you’re implying that I planned for that person to bump into me because I suspected he’s the person Akashi-kun is searching for, and that I knew that Akashi-kun is around the area and would eventually see us, and that I kept our conversation going to buy time until Akashi-kun did – then yes, you are correct, Takao-kun.”

 

Takao whistles, “Shin-chan told me you’re manipulative. I didn’t really believe it, but now I see where he’s coming from.”

 

“I prefer the term ‘strategic’, actually.” Kuroko deadpans. “Someone had to resolve Akashi-kun’s brooding mood. There is only so much Aomine-kun can suffer before Akashi-kun decides on another target. Kagami-kun was likely high-risk – he and Aomine-kun share the same kind of reckless idiocy that prevents them from avoiding Akashi-kun’s wrath.”

 

“Heh, a job well done, then,” Takao snickers, “But y’know you probably handed that poor guy his death sentence, right?”

 

“Hm.” Kuroko blinks, remembering the photo on Akashi’s phone. “Somehow, I believe that won’t be the case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have any more pre-written chapters to upload so I will ideally be updating bi-weekly from now on. The story will be picking up some pace now and I'm very excited to write the upcoming chapters.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments, bookmarks, and kudos! :)


	8. Talking About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akashi compromises.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

 

Akashi Seijuuro is scary.

 

Not in the way that ghosts or monsters are; the terror isn’t of something unknown or supernatural. Instead, Akashi is scary in the way that weapons are scary; the gleaming blade of a knife, the weight of a loaded gun. The fear is invoked from the knowledge that danger is apparent – an instinctual survival response directly proportional to the degree of potential crisis.

 

And right now, Furihata stands in the parking lot of the ryokan before a very real, very apparent crisis.

 

“Ano… I- I can explain.” Furihata says, trying his best to stop his voice from being reduced into nothing but a cowardly squeak.

 

“Oh?” Akashi raises his brows, voice and demeanor deceptively calm. “Do.”

 

“Oh- um.” Crap. Furihata hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. The whole point of avoiding Akashi was precisely so that he doesn’t have to deal with this coming-up-with-a-reasonable-explanation business. Furihata is not unaware of how incapable he is at lying. The stuttering and fidgeting just goes out of control. He’s so obvious it’s painful. But it’s not like telling the truth is an option either, so Furihata will have to come up with a way.

 

And soon, because Akashi does not look to be in a patient mood – which, in hindsight, is probably Furihata’s fault for avoiding him in the first place – and an impatient Akashi is about five times scarier than normal Akashi.

 

That is, if anything about Akashi can ever be classified as ‘normal’.

 

“Um,” Furihata says again, unhelpfully, as he struggles to come up with a reason that doesn’t involve confessing his borderline-pedophilic attraction to Akashi.

 

Akashi crosses his arms, waiting quietly with unblinking red eyes.

 

It is unnerving how little Akashi is saying. Furihata feels like he is shrinking, inch by inch, with every minute of uncomfortable silence that passes between them. He kind of wishes Akashi would yell at him instead. But, naturally, Akashi doesn’t yell. He has been brought up – ‘programmed’ – in such a way that forbids him from doing so. Instead, Akashi perfected the art of making the absence of speech multiple times more intimidating than any vocal outburst can be.

 

“I-” Furihata begins when the pressure of Akashi’s silent gaze became too much, only to pause after one syllable because he still has no idea what to say. He rolls in his lips, then admits in a quiet voice, “I don’t- I don’t know where to start.”

 

Akashi blinks, unfazed, “Start from the part when you began to avoid me.”

 

“O-okay.” Right. He can work on building an explanation from there. “It was after… yesterday morning.”

 

“Yesterday morning.” Akashi nods.

 

“Yes.” Furihata nods back, avoiding his eyes. Absentmindedly, he notes that Akashi still retains the same habit of parroting things other people say; and Furihata tries to convince himself that he doesn’t find it adorable.

 

A minute passes before Akashi realizes that Furihata doesn’t plan on continuing. He frowns, impatience growing. Furihata may well be his favourite but there is a limit to how much nonsense Akashi can tolerate.

 

“Kouki.”

 

“Y-yes?” Furihata looks up.

 

“Are you going to talk or are we going to stand here under the sun all day?”

 

“Ano…” Furihata fidgets, “We can move if you want?”

 

Akashi slowly narrows his eyes.

 

“I mean- um- yes, I’ll talk. Here. Staying right here and talking.” Furihata quickly says, wondering why he feels like the scolded child between them when Akashi is ten years his junior. He shifts awkwardly, trying to figure out the best way to go about doing this. “If- I don’t know if- I mean- ehh…”

 

“Yes?” Akashi raises a brow.

 

Furihata takes a deep breath. “Um- it might be easier if you ask me questions and I- um- answer them?”

 

“Understood,” Akashi nods, and then immediately says, “Why are you avoiding me?”

 

Furihata gulps, “Eh… is there an option to skip to an easier question first?”

 

Akashi just looks at him blankly like he hasn’t said anything at all.

 

“R-right.” Furihata clears his throat, “Right. Here goes. The reason, eh…”

 

Akashi waits.

 

“Uh-” Furihata shuffles on his feet, wishing the ground would just open up, swallow him whole, and take him away from Akashi’s red eyes that are glowing like embers at him in sunlight – Akashi’s heavy scrutiny causing him to sweat much more than the heat of the sun.

 

And yet, even as he stands there nervous and slightly terrified, Furihata cannot help but appreciate how attractive Akashi looks in bright daylight. It’s unfair. Not to mention incredibly distracting. The sun is at an angle behind Akashi where it forms a halo-like silhouette around his head, and Akashi looks downright like an _angel_ -

 

-a very scary, pissed-off angel who looks like he’s on the verge of reaching out and throttling Furihata if he doesn’t speak in the next ten seconds.

 

Furihata swallows, and repeats, “The reason is-”

 

“Furi-sensei!” Ami-chan, one of his students, calls out to him from the ryokan’s front. “Izuki-sensei told me to tell you we’re leaving in five minutes!”

 

“Oh-!” Furihata nearly lets out a sigh of relief. He turns to Akashi without meeting his eyes, “I- I have to g-”

 

“ _Don’t._ ”

 

Akashi’s hand spikes out to grab his wrist so fast Furihata doesn’t even have time to blink; the speed of a snake jumping on its prey. It is almost like Akashi moved even before Furihata did.

 

Furihata reflexively tugs his arm but it doesn’t budge. Akashi has an iron-grip on him. “A-Akashi-kun-”

 

“You are not going anywhere.”

 

“But- the bus-”

 

“I will personally ensure your mode of transport is severely crippled if you insist on leaving without providing me any explanation.”

 

“E-eh?”

 

Akashi’s eyes are completely serious. “I can guarantee the damage will take hours to repair. I’m assuming you do not wish to have to explain to your students’ parents why their child’s return is delayed until midnight?”

 

Furihata gapes and quickly shakes his head.

 

“Good.” Akashi glances at his watch, “You have four minutes left. I suggest you start talking.”

 

In all twenty-eight years of his life, Furihata has never felt so much pressure. It’s like his first job interview combined with the first time he ever confessed to a girl all mushed together in one massive, frazzling pile of nerves.

 

How is it possible to find someone so terrorizing to be so fiercely captivating at the same time, anyways? Clearly, there must be something wrong with him because, for some bizarre reason, Furihata finds it kind of hot when Akashi’s asserting dominance like this. And that’s probably more than a little concerning when Furihata is torn between wanting to run away from Akashi, and wanting to grab Akashi by his yukata and just- just do _something_ he definitely should _not_ be doing to an ex-student.

 

“Oh my god, stop it.” Furihata mutters under his breath.

 

“Stop what?” Akashi stares at him.

 

“Ah- no. Um. Nothing. I was- talking to myself.”

 

Furihata gulps. This is bad. This is very bad. Every moment he spends with Akashi only serves to escalate what is only meant to be a silly little crush.

 

“You have three minutes and thirty seconds.” Akashi reminds him, and when Furihata doesn’t say anything, the grip on his wrist tightens. “Talk to me.”

 

Furihata blinks at the grip, feeling his fingertips begin to prickle. “Ano, I t-think you’re cutting off my circulat-”

 

“Three minutes, Kouki.” Akashi’s red eyes glint warningly.

 

Furihata is completely cornered. His eyes flit up to meet those crimson orbs, and under the sheer intensity of Akashi’s gaze, Furihata cracks and it all just comes blurting out in one quick rush, “I just- I can’t see Akashi-kun anymore.”

 

There is a flicker of something on Akashi’s face which Furihata can’t decipher. But it is only there for a split second before it is gone and is instead replaced by a far more hostile, threatening expression. Akashi’s jaw clenches, his eyes darkening, and when he speaks his voice is low. Dangerous. “…why not?”

 

“I- I don’t mean forever, just-” Furihata rolls in his lips, “For a while.”

 

“And why is that?” Akashi presses him. The grip on Furihata’s wrist is now so tight Furihata can feel his pulse thrumming beneath Akashi’s fingers.

 

Furihata fidgets, “U-um, that is-”

 

“Furi-sensei! You’re going to be left behinddd!”

 

Furihata can swear he sees Akashi’s eyes flashing murder at his student. If looks could kill, poor innocent little Ami-chan would be as good as dead; brutally stabbed, simultaneously bleeding out and twitching on the floor.

 

He shivers. “I- I’m sorry, I really should go and-”

 

“ _Kouki._ ” Those eyes of murder are on him now, and Akashi’s glare alone is enough to freeze Furihata on the spot.

 

For a moment, they just stand there; Akashi looking at Furihata looking at anything but Akashi. Furihata’s hand on the gripped side is starting to turn a little pale but he can’t feel it – partly because it has gone completely numb, but more so because all he can focus on feeling is Akashi’s eyes on him, marking his every move. The faint ticks of their wristwatches are as loud as gongs, and Furihata is running out of time.

 

In a weak voice, Furihata speaks, “A-Akashi-kun, I really can’t-”

 

“If you think for one second that you can leave me whilst I stand here watching, powerless to stop you, then you’re wrong. I won’t allow it. You’re not slipping away.” Akashi’s eyes on him are steady, certain. Then, in a quieter voice, he adds, “Not again.”

 

In that moment, Furihata realizes that he _is_ able to decipher what the earlier flicker on Akashi’s face was after all. It is far too subtle for anyone else to read, but Furihata can. Not only because he’s come to recognize the slightest shifts and minuscule movements of Akashi’s muscles, but because Furihata has seen that expression before. Ten years ago, precisely. He’s recognized it the moment it passed, it’s just that Furihata cannot believe it at first.

 

Because it’s far too hard to believe that Akashi, being the man he is now, would look so- Furihata hesitates to call it ‘lonely’, because that’s not quite accurate; it would’ve been, ten years ago, when Akashi was eight years old and the only person in his world who really understood him the way he needed to be understood was Furihata. But now it’s different. It’s not loneliness, but it’s close – it’s close, but it’s different, and at the same time, it’s something more. Furihata doesn’t have a word for it, only that he knows it makes him ache somewhere deep inside, too.

 

And before he can stop himself, Furihata reaches out and covers Akashi’s hand with his own.

 

He immediately regrets it; starts mentally beating himself up about it – what the hell does he think he’s doing, this is the polar opposite of everything he intended _not_ to do – and is about to let go when, suddenly, it is Akashi who lets go of his wrist. Then, just as swiftly, Akashi turns his palm to cup Furihata’s hand in his own (and it never stops startling Furihata how Akashi’s hand is bigger than his now, how much he’s grown, when the last time Furihata saw him he could easily hide both of Akashi’s tiny hands in his one palm).

 

Their eyes meet, and Furihata’s breath catches in his throat at the unexpected tenderness in Akashi’s gaze.

 

They linger like that for what seems like an eternity, ruby red orbs drinking in butterscotch pools, and Furihata’s heart is pounding in his chest, in his ears, and he desperately hopes Akashi doesn’t hear it too.

 

Akashi squeezes his hand, and Furihata inhales sharply, feeling the squeeze like a fist at his core.

 

And Furihata squeezes back, because how can he not? Because that’s what they do – him and Akashi – it’s become their _thing_ now, and not squeezing back would be equivalent to throwing everything between them in Akashi’s face. So Furihata squeezes back, and it means _I’m here,_ and _I hear you, still do, just like before_ and in a tiny belated whisper, _always._

 

And Akashi must have understood, somehow, at least a little bit, because his eyes soften in that particular way that makes Furihata’s pulse trip.

 

“…two days.” He says.

 

“Two days?” Furihata murmurs back dazedly, and he doesn’t even realize that Akashi’s habit of echoing words has caught onto him as well.

 

“I will be leaving Kinosaki in two days, at which point I will come find you. We will continue our discussion then,” Akashi looks at him, “I’ll be expecting a proper explanation by that time.”

 

“O-okay.” Furihata agrees easily, because this is- special. It’s Akashi compromising, and Furihata doesn’t even need to be there for the past ten years to appreciate how rare that is. Akashi _doesn’t_ compromise. It’s another one of those Akashi-specific things – like not yelling, and not losing. Never losing. “You’ll come find me- like- at work?”

 

“I will find a way which is most convenient.”

 

Furihata doesn’t doubt for a second that Akashi will.

 

“Furihata!” Izuki is waving at him wildly from the lobby, “The bus is leaving! Like, right now!”

 

“I’m coming!” Furihata calls back, and starts to step away only to realize, belatedly, that his hand is still holding onto Akashi’s. “Ah-”

 

“I’ll see you in two days, Kouki.” Akashi says and, with one final brush of his thumb over the back of Furihata’s hand, he lets go.

 

Furihata nods, once, then forces himself to start walking, finding his legs stiff. It’s an effort to not look back, to not immediately rub his own hand over the spot Akashi has just been touching.

 

By the time Furihata is seated on the bus and the wheels are rolling, his hand that has been clasping Akashi’s is still tingling, and Furihata has to remind himself that he can breathe.

 

Izuki is peering at him curiously, both eyebrows raised. However, he doesn’t ask any questions, for which Furihata is thankful.

 

Furihata doesn’t dare look out of the window, afraid of seeing a certain pair of intense red eyes staring back – afraid of them imprinting on him further, afraid of what they’ll make him feel.

 

 

…

 

 

Green eyes with too-long lashes are watching Akashi when he walks back into the ryokan.

 

Subtly, of course, because apart from his miraculous three-pointers and the rather strange obsession with Oha-Asa and fate and lucky items and the like, Midorima Shintarou doesn’t _do_ obvious. Not intentionally. Midorima’s the type who will beat around the bush so far the hypothetical bush will likely have shriveled up and died before he finally admits he cares.

 

Which he completely does, though he tries to act like he doesn’t, and kind of fails at hiding it through his actions most of the time. Examples include going to watch his friends’ matches wearing a – frankly appalling – “disguise”; giving genuine advice masked in insults; and basically his every interaction with Takao Kazunari.

 

Akashi ignores him, walking right past the taller as though Midorima’s as invisible as their phantom sixth player. The thing about knowing someone since childhood – not to mention having played strategic board games against each other their whole lives – is that it gets too easy to predict the other’s trail of thought. Akashi knows the look Midorima is (subtly) giving him, and knows that if Midorima has something to say he’ll eventually come out and say it.

 

So when Midorima turns up at his door later that evening, with a doll that looks suspiciously like an egg yolk – _Gudetama_ , his lucky item – tucked under his arm, Akashi is sitting next to a shogi board fully expecting him. “Shintarou.”

 

Midorima nods in greeting and simply takes his place across from him, far past the point of being surprised by Akashi’s unnerving ability to anticipate his every action anymore. They play quietly, the only sounds being the sliding of wooden pieces against the board.

 

Halfway through their third game (Akashi won the first two, but that’s nothing new), Midorima finally speaks.

 

“I recognize him.” He says, offhandedly.

 

“Context, Shintarou.” Akashi says, without looking up from the board.

 

“You are well aware exactly who I am talking about.”

 

“Am I?” Akashi hums disinterestedly, “As far as I’m concerned, you can be talking about the ryokan’s receptionist.”

 

Midorima levels his gaze at him, “I am talking about the man whose photo you still keep even after years of not seeing him.”

 

Akashi stills, only for a millisecond, before he continues smoothly, “You’ve been looking through my library.”

 

It isn’t a question, but Midorima nods anyways. “You gave me permission.”

 

“To look for _books_ , yes.”

 

“I was,” Midorima notices the slight sharpening of Akashi’s tone and momentarily considers dropping the subject, but in the end, he goes ahead. “So it really was him you were talking to this morning.”

 

“Is that supposed to be a question?” Akashi inquires, eyes still on the board, “Because it didn’t sound like one. Not to mention, you wouldn’t be here discussing this if you were uncertain. Don’t waste my time, Shintarou. Get to the point.”

 

“Fine,” Midorima crosses his arms, putting their game on pause. “You are fond of him.”

 

“Yes.” Akashi replies without missing a beat.

 

Midorima blinks. “…yes?”

 

“Yes, I am awfully fond of Furihata Kouki,” Akashi says, finally looking up from the board to meet Midorima’s eyes. “Your point being?”

 

Midorima looks perplexed, “You… you actually admit to it.”

 

Akashi tilts his head, “Would you rather I adopt your methods of unsuccessfully concealing your affections through harsh words and hostility? Your point guard may find it charming but I am led to believe he’s one of few.”

 

“No, I-“ Midorima clears his throat, “I wasn’t expecting you to be aware of it, let alone admit it.”

 

“Ah. So you thought you had to take it upon yourself to enlighten me. Of _my_ own mental state.” Akashi has a way of speaking that can make even the smartest people feel as incapable as a toddler.

Midorima sighs, “I remember how you were when he left, is all.”

 

Akashi narrows his eyes, “I was a child. I do not see how my actions then are relevant.”

 

“No normal child would do what you did.”

 

“No normal child would persistently tag around outrageous lucky items based on their horoscope on a daily basis, either.”

 

Midorima readjusts his glasses, “Believing in fate is perfectly normal.”

 

Akashi stares at him, “You are preaching normality whilst carrying around a doll which looks like an egg yolk. With a face.”

 

“ _Gudetama_ ,” Midorima clarifies, “And even with my lucky items I was still exponentially more normal than you were as a child.”

 

“I never said I was a normal child.”

 

Midorima can’t say he disagrees, and he can’t win – that’s the frustrating thing about being friends with Akashi – so he moves on. “It doesn’t change the fact that Furihata leaving affected you.”

 

“You’re saying I should blame him for going to university?” Akashi crosses his own arms, mirroring Midorima’s posture. “My eight-year-old self may not have understood it, but I do now. If Takao Kazunari had chosen a different university from you would you resent him for it?”

 

“Of course not.” Midorima frowns, “And that is hardly relevant. It’s not the fact that he left. Furihata promised you he would return and did not. That was what affected you.”

 

Akashi shrugs dismissively, “He missed _one_ holiday. One winter. And when summer came my father flew me off to London. By the time I came back it’s been four years, he’s graduated, and the slot has been missed. It is neither my fault nor Kouki’s. ”

 

Midorima stares, “You’re protecting him.”

 

“I am stating the facts as they are.” Akashi says, calmly.

 

Midorima observes him and slowly says, once again, “You really must be incredibly fond of him.”

 

“I thought I have stated as much.” Akashi uncrosses his arms and goes back to placing another piece on the shogi board as he speaks, “Your concern is appreciated, Shintarou, but it is unnecessary. I am well aware where Kouki stands.”

 

“And that is?”

 

“Where I want him to be.” Akashi’s voice is clipped, his red eyes gleaming threateningly, “Exactly where that might be is none of your concern.”

 

Midorima is intelligent enough to let the subject drop after that. There is a line with Akashi, there is always a line, and Midorima isn’t about to cross it. Instead, Midorima sits there silently, watching Akashi beat him in shogi for the third time; and he wonders whether what’s in front of him is a man who’s protecting something precious, or merely a predator possessive over its prey.

 

“Speaking of which, Shintarou,” Akashi says after their game is over, more tranquil now in his victory. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata receives three letters the day after he arrives back in his Tokyo apartment.

 

One is a postcard from his senpais, way back from his Seirin High days. It appears to be that Hyuuga, Riko, and Kiyoshi are going to be in town and wants a reunion if possible. Which, in Riko-speak, means attendance is pretty much compulsory. Furihata chuckles, glad to see from the writing that none of them have changed. He emails a reply to the three of them, and also Izuki, before tucking the postcard away.

 

The second letter is in a pristine, crisp white envelope that manages to look expensive even in its plainness. Furihata only has to take one glance at it to be able to guess exactly whom it might have come from. He ignores the little jolt in his chest that accompanies the thought of a certain pair of staring red eyes.

 

Inside the envelope is a short message, handwritten in cursive writing that looks like it belongs to royalty. Which, really, isn’t far from the truth, considering who wrote it.

 

_‘Kouki,_

_I hope you are well._

_Rakuzan will be having a practice basketball match at Shutoku High tomorrow. My team and I will arrive in Tokyo in the afternoon, and I would like to take this opportunity to continue our unfinished conversation, as per discussed, after the match in the evening._

_I look forward to seeing you there._

_Yours,_

_Akashi Seijuuro.’_

Furihata stares at the letter for a while; in particular, at the ending, at the way the word “yours” is written next to Akashi’s refined signature. Even as Furihata tells himself it doesn’t mean anything, he cannot stop looking at it. It makes it worse that he can almost hear Akashi’s voice through the writing with the way it parallels with his patterns of speech.

 

And how very like Akashi to send him a written invitation rather than simply sending an email or a text. It suits him, Furihata thinks, the formality and well-constructed nature of a letter. Akashi, as far as Furihata can remember, has always been proper; from the very first time he looked up at Furihata with those crimson eyes that were too big in his little six-year-old head and introduced himself.

 

Furihata considers messaging him a reply, but decides against it. Texting just seems- too casual, almost like an act of disrespect towards Akashi’s neatly inscribed letter. Plus, it’s not like Akashi needs a confirmation. Both of them knowFurihata will turn up – he’s far too polite and Akashi’s far too scary not to. If Furihata finds Riko intimidating, then Akashi is approximately a solid hundred times the intimidation. Especially when he’s asking Furihata for an explanation he doesn’t have.

 

Which reminds him – Furihata _still_ has yet to come up with a sound reason to give to Akashi. Maybe he should make a list; draw a spider diagram; do _something,_ because if Furihata stands there and keeps saying “um” at Akashi for a second time when he sees him tomorrow, Akashi might really just strangle him. Or take out his eyeballs, if Izuki’s words are anything to go by.

 

Furihata sighs and carefully folds the letter away. He decides he’ll make a mind map – he just has to finish going through his post first. And, no, of course this is not him procrastinating. Furihata’s a teacher, he knows all about time management and avoiding procrastination – or so he convinces himself as he moves onto the third and last letter.

 

This one is from Furihata’s parents; which is strange, because even though they live in the suburbs they’re still both living in Tokyo, just like Furihata, and it would make more sense for them to come see him in person. Or, even easier, make a phone call. That being said, the letter _is_ rather big. And heavy. It’s actually much more like a thin rectangular-shaped package rather than a letter.

 

Furihata proceeds to open it, curiously, and as soon as he sees what’s inside he cannot help but cringe.

 

Because what he has in his hands is a portfolio of female resumes. Females dressed in _kimonos_. And the last thing Furihata needs right now is for his parents to be _matchmaking._

 

“You’ve got to be kidding…” Furihata shakes his head, muttering to himself. “I’m twenty-eight, it’s way too early to-” He pauses, thinking about the number of his friends’ weddings he’s been to recently – including Hyuuga and Riko’s just last year. And, yes, they might be older than him, but it’s only by one yearand that’s really nothing at all once you get to working-age.

 

“I’m twenty-eight,” Furihata repeats, like he’s only just now realizing it.

 

He reluctantly flips through the portfolio, scanning the profiles – just so he can say to his mother that he’s at least looked at them. With the exception of one, all of the girls in there are younger than him. The youngest is twenty-three, fresh out of university, and looks like she could still pass for a high school student.

 

Which is ironic. And slightly depressing, that even the youngest candidate for Furihata in the portfolio is still a good five years older than Akashi.

 

“Ugh-” Furihata groans and slams the portfolio shut. Really, what _awful_ timing. He’s already got his hands full trying to come up with a way to deal with the ‘Akashi situation’ – he’s refusing to call it a crush anymore because he finds giving it a name has only made the attraction stronger, and that’s what Furihata absolutely wants to avoid – in a way that will still allow them to interact and keep in contact, but not so much so that Furihata’s feelings keep plunging deeper into inappropriate territory. Furihata’s headspace is already preoccupied trying to figure that out, as well as how to explain it to Akashi – the incredibly perceptive, far too intelligent Akashi – without giving anything away. He doesn’t have the time or the capability to juggle around potential fiancées his parents are throwing at him as well. Unless-

 

A light bulb goes off in Furihata’s head.

 

Unless, it might actually be _perfect_ timing.

 

Inspired, he picks up a piece of scrap paper and starts scribbling up his mind map.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like I’ll be updating tri-weekly rather than bi-weekly after all. As always, thank you for all the kudos and comments! I love reading all your thoughts on this fic :)


	9. Skinny Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Furihata gets reacquainted with lucky items.

Furihata can honestly say he has never felt so ordinary in his life.

 

Which is saying something, because throughout all twenty-eight years of his existence Furihata has never been anything _but_ ordinary; an average boy with average looks, average grades, average wealth… Nothing to complain about – it’s far better than being _below_ average at any rate – so Furihata has never given it much thought, fully content to coast through life in all its average-y beauty.

 

But as he stands there watching mere _teenagers_ rule the basketball court as though they were made for it, Furihata cannot help but become starkly aware of his own mediocrity. Though, strangely, it is not envy that he feels but rather an overwhelming sense of awe (and disgust/admiration because, okay, that three-point shooter who can shoot from across the entire freaking court with that sort of laser-sharp accuracy is just- no), the star struck feeling similar to the first time Furihata watched an NBA finals.

 

Only here, there is Akashi Seijuuro.

 

And Akashi… Akashi is brilliant. Not that Furihata expects any less, because when is Akashi ever not brilliant? He’s heard plenty of praise for Akashi’s genius in basketball, but seeing it in action is a completely different story. Furihata finds it impossible to focus on anyone else when Akashi is on the court. His eyes are drawn to the way Akashi moves, the grace in his muscles, the way he watches his opponents with a calculating gaze that Furihata has seen enough times to recognize from a mile away. There’s a power in his presence, a confidence in his stance, when he commands his teammates with an air of a born leader.

 

No wonder they call him an Emperor. Watching Akashi like this, it’s hard to believe someone of this caliber is willing to spare a time of their day for him: plain, ordinary Furihata Kouki.

 

The ball hits the court just as the buzzer goes, and Rakuzan has won.

 

Furihata’s eyes go to Akashi, and he isn’t sure whether he is unsurprised to see that Akashi isn’t smiling. He looks content, yes, but he isn’t smiling. It’s as though victory is nothing new for him – which, considering who he is, it probably isn’t. Akashi is pleased, no doubt, but it’s the sort of pleased that is- _expected_. Like when someone is pleased when their food arrives at the table at a restaurant.

 

The players take turns to shake hands. Furihata recognizes one of the Shutoku players to be Takao-kun, the one he met back in Kinosaki along with the strange pale blue-haired boy whose name he no longer remembers. Takao is something special on the court, too – he definitely wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had superpowers. Him and the green-haired Shutoku ace together are unbelievable.

 

“Eh?” Furihata is startled when, during the handshake with Akashi, Takao suddenly starts pointing into the stands – pointing directly _at_ Furihata.Then all of a sudden those red eyes of Akashi’s are on him, too, and Furihata’s breath catches in his throat.

 

Akashi raises his eyebrows when he sees him. His mouth moves to say something, and Furihata isn’t an expert at lip-reading but he can tell Akashi is saying his name. He can almost imagine the exact tone of voice, the enunciation that is unique to Akashi alone.

 

‘ _Kouki.’_ Akashi mouths, and then his lips curl and it makes his entire face look gentler and Furihata has already forgotten to breathe by the time he comprehends that Akashi is smiling. A reserved smile, but a smile nonetheless.

 

And it makes Furihata giddy, because he has managed to make Akashi smile when winning the game hadn’t, when hardly anything does, and that- that makes Furihata feel like maybe he’s not so ordinary after all.

 

…

 

 

“You came to watch.” Akashi says, when Furihata comes down from the stands to meet him on the sides of the court. The smile is gone now – the rare occasion disappearing as quickly as it came – but he still looks pleased, and it’s a different kind of pleased from when he won the match.

 

“Of course I did,” Furihata replies instantly, before realizing that he may have sounded a little too keen, so he adds, “I-I mean, I’ve heard a lot about the Generation of Miracles, but I’ve never seen a live game.”

 

“Hm.” Akashi hums neutrally, taking a sip from a bottle of water one of the Rakuzan players brought – _served_ – him.

 

Furihata’s eyes follow Akashi’s adam’s apple as it bobs up and down, appreciating the length and smooth expanse of his throat. There’s still a light sheen of sweat on Akashi’s skin, and Furihata watches as a droplet trails down Akashi’s neck to pool into the dip between his clavicles.

 

Furihata swallows. It seems to be that two days without exposure to Akashi not only did not help Furihata become any more immune to Akashi’s attractiveness, but it has also weakened any tolerance he may have built up.

 

And ugh, how does Akashi still look this fantastic when he’s all sweaty? Possibly even more so than usual. How unfair is that?

 

“-acquaintance of mine.”

 

Akashi is saying something but Furihata finds it hard to concentrate when he’s too distracted by, ironically, Akashi himself. Maybe it’s a pheromones’ thing. They do say exercise causes a release of pheromones, something about the sweat pores-

 

“He appears to be in a trance. Is this some kind of new hypnotism trick of yours?”

 

“If I were capable of such abilities, Shintarou, Rakuzan would’ve won by an even greater lead.”

 

“Che.”

 

“Kouki,” Akashi’s voice calling his name eventually snaps Furihata’s attention back. “This is Midorima Shintarou. You may remember him.”

 

“H-huh?” Furihata blinks in surprise, because it’s _him_ – the impossible three-point shooter from Shutoku. His green hair is rather difficult to misplace, just like how it’s rare to find someone with both red hair and eyes like Akashi.

 

“Eh?” Furihata frowns when he finds the Shutoku ace looks strikingly familiar.

 

Giving it some thought, Furihata remembers there used to be a child with green hair who hung out with Akashi back when he was little. The only child Furihata ever saw with Akashi, really – it’s not that Akashi didn’t have many friends, it’s just- he didn’t have many friends who he actually _considered_ as friends. Akashi was too smart for most children of the same age, but the green-haired bespectacled boy was a fortunate anomaly. Furihata remembers he used to watch them play chess against each other and think to himself how their little green and red heads together reminded him of apples.

 

Which is not that different from how Akashi and the Shutoku ace look when they’re standing together in front of him as they currently are, actually, now that Furihata is properly looking at them. Furihata squints at the green haired boy, at his glasses and his long lashes and the garishly pink unicorn doll attached to his hip; then slowly back and forth between him and Akashi until, finally, it clicks.

 

“ _Eh_??” Furihata says again, louder this time, eyes wide.

 

Akashi raises an eyebrow at him, looking mildly amused.

 

“N-no way. You’re _that_ Midorima-kun?” The one with the weird toys. Yes, Furihata remembers him clearly now.

 

“That would be correct,” Midorima says primly, nudging his glasses.

 

“Uwah-! You- you’ve grown so much,” Furihata stares up at him and cannot help but comment, “You’re so _tall_.”

 

Akashi twitches just the slightest bit at that, and Midorima gives him a neutral sideways glance that manages to look quite smug. Akashi makes a mental note to personally make him suffer for it later.

 

“Ooh, I know, right? Shin-chan’s sooo freakishly tall,” Takao pops out from nowhere beside Furihata and casually slips into the conversation like the social butterfly that he is, grins and all. “I mean, it’s amazing for basketball and things, and height is always a plus with guys, but you gotta see Shin-chan when he bumps into things. And then tries to play it off. Hilarious.”

 

“Takao,” Midorima says in a stern voice.

 

“What? It’s true, Shin-chan. You’re so dorkily clumsy it’s kinda cute.” Takao chuckles, skipping over to Midorima’s side to loop an arm around his elbow.

 

Midorima frowns, “Don’t cling. You are sweaty, it’s-”

 

“-‘unhygienic’. Yes, yes, future-doctor-san.” Takao rolls his eyes playfully, letting go of Midorima but only to stretch up on his toes to whisper something in Midorima’s ear with a mischievous little smirk on his lips.

 

And Furihata doesn’t expect it at all when Midorima – the uber-proper boy who is even more stoic now than he previously was – appears to be _blushing._ Furihata blinks and blinks again but the subtle flush beneath the lens of Midorima’s glasses is definitely there. Surely that’s not right. All this overwhelming human talent around Furihata must be affecting his vision.

 

Midorima clears his throat, readjusts his glasses. “Excuse us,” He mumbles before stalking off quickly.

 

Takao laughs as he skips close-by after him, only turning around to give Akashi and Furihata a quick wave before they disappear around the corner – but not before Furihata catches how Takao intertwines his hand with Midorima’s just as they slip out of sight.

 

“Wow.” Furihata says. And he tries not to think about holding hands with Akashi, or squeezing Akashi’s hand, or just Akashi’s hands in general.

 

“What is it?” Akashi stares at him curiously.

 

“Oh- um. It’s just- I think they’re kinda cute.” Furihata says, truthfully.

 

“‘Cute’,” Akashi parrots, tilting his head in consideration. “Whilst I can appreciate that Kazunari can be described in such a way, I hardly think Shintarou fits the definition of the term.”

 

“Huh? Oh, but I meant cute as in, uh, together cute.”

 

“Together?” Akashi repeats, brows slightly drawn together, unfamiliar with not fully understanding what’s going on.

 

“Eh?” Furihata turns to face him, now also confused. “Aren’t Midorima-kun and Takao-kun dating?”

 

 

…

 

 

By the time they get to Akashi’s apartment, Akashi is still fuming.

 

He’s more frustrated at himself rather than at Midorima for not telling him – even though Midorima will be facing certain consequences for that, too – especially because it’s so glaringly obvious now that he’s been made aware. How could he not have seen it? Takao pulls Midorima around in a _rickshaw_ , for heaven’s sake.

 

To be fair, Akashi did have his suspicions about Takao – the boy looks at Midorima like he’s the most adorable thing that’s ever graced this planet, and this is _Midorima_ we’re talking about – but Akashi never thought Midorima would reciprocate. Akashi just finds it difficult to picture Midorima to be homosexual. Or bisexual. Or anything-sexual, frankly. Akashi has never seen Midorima show any interest in relationships or having any form of sexual intimacy with anyone, let alone another man. Aomine used to joke about how he bets Midorima doesn’t even masturbate; the straight-laced, perfectly by-the-rules, golden boy Midorima. To think that he would be inclined towards men... Akashi has to admit that he did not see that one coming. And that only adds to the annoyance because he’s Akashi and he’s supposed to _know_ things.

 

Meanwhile, Furihata is as quiet as a mouse sitting next to the brooding Akashi on his sofa, feeling like he’s treading on a minefield. Why, oh why, did he have to be the one to break it to Akashi that his childhood friend is dating another boy? And why today of all days? Furihata will probably struggle enough trying to get through their unfinished conversation as it is. Ideally, he needs Akashi to be in the best mood possible. Needless to say, Furihata has once again shot himself in the foot with this one. But it was so clear to him, seeing Midorima and Takao together, Furihata just assumed that Akashi knew.

 

“Ano… I didn’t know Akashi-kun moved out of your Tokyo house,” Furihata carefully says, trying to stray him away from the subject.

 

“I didn’t,” Akashi’s voice is clipped, though he _is_ replying, which is better than the deathly silence during the car ride here so Furihata considers it a win. “The main house is unaware of this apartment’s existence.”

 

“Eh? How come?”

 

“I bought it when I moved to Rakuzan,” Akashi explains, his eyes going slightly darker, “This way I can return to Tokyo without Father’s knowledge.”

 

Uh-oh. Landmine no. 1. If there’s anything that can worsen Akashi’s mood it’s mention of his father. Furihata cannot backpedal fast enough, “A-ano… does your mother know of this place then?”

 

Akashi goes very still at that, and Furihata senses the drop in the atmosphere right away. He tenses, unsure what he’s said. Akashi turns to look at him, and it’s the first time Furihata doesn’t recognize the emotion in those wide red orbs.

 

When Akashi speaks again his voice is frighteningly composed.

 

“My mother passed away when I was in fifth grade.”

 

Furihata freezes.

 

It takes a minute before the information fully settles in, and Furihata feels choked. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t even know if he can speak. He just stares at Akashi, looking haunted, like he’s just seen a ghost.

 

Eyeing him, Akashi frowns, “You didn’t know.”

 

It’s not a question but Furihata shakes his head anyways. His voice is hollow, “I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have-”

 

“It’s fine,” Akashi cuts him off, voice detached. “It’s been a long time.”

 

“But I should’ve been there for you, I-” Furihata blurts out, and immediately feels stupid for doing so. Who does he think he is, that someone like Akashi would need him? But when Furihata pictures a young little redheaded child standing there all alone in front of his mother’s grave, he cannot help but feel responsible. Protective. Which is ridiculous, because even if Akashi needed protection – which he most likely didn’t – he was never Furihata’s to protect. It’d be ludicrous of him to think so highly of himself and believe that Akashi would need _him_ of all people-

 

“What would you have done?” Akashi inquires, interrupting Furihata’s thoughts, “If you had been there.”

 

“I would’ve-” Furihata stops himself, rolling in his lips, “Um- you’ll just think it’s silly of me.”

 

“Don’t be absurd.” Akashi says it which such certainty that Furihata feels reprimanded. If it were ten years ago, a harsh pinch on Furihata’s cheek would’ve accompanied that tone. Those soul-piercing crimson eyes from back then, however, remain intact. “Tell me everything you would’ve done.”

 

“O-okay,” Furihata nods, nervous. “Well, I- I would’ve… sat with you. Or stand- _stood._ With Akashi-kun. Um.” Furihata clears his throat, takes a deep breath, “I just- I’d want to be there for you. And I- I don’t know if it’d be much help, but I would… h-hold your hand. Because that’s what you did for me, back when my mum got into that car accident, and it was like everything was falling apart but you were helping me hold it together with your tiny hands and- it was exactly what I needed. So I’d be there for Akashi-kun, too. The whole time.”

 

Akashi is looking at him intently, silently, his eyes deep and strange.

 

Furihata continues, “I’d stay with Akashi-kun at your place, if you let me, because the nights are the worst part, and I wouldn’t want you to go through it alone. I’d be there for any nightmares, and I’d stay awake to talk to you on nights when you can’t sleep. I’d bring you your favourite tofu soup every day, and sneak you to see Yukimaru even if your father won’t allow it. And when we’re alone and it’s dark at night I’d- I would tell you it’s okay to cry, because you wouldn’t allow yourself to. Because everyone expects you to be strong; to be your father’s son; to be an _Akashi._ But with me you wouldn’t have to be anything or- or anyone, you can just- _be_.”

 

Akashi stares at him, unblinking, not saying a word.

 

“Ah-!” Furihata realizes everything that he’s said, and he goes back to feeling self-conscious and small all over again. He curls back in on himself on the sofa, “I’m sorry, I- I’ve said too much, I-”

 

Furihata pauses mid-sentence when suddenly Akashi reaches over and touches the back of his hand to Furihata’s cheekbone.

 

Akashi moves his knuckles down the side of Furihata’s cheek – the touch light as a feather but feels like electricity in Furihata’s veins – and goose bumps run from the back of his neck right down the back of both his arms. And Furihata can’t even breathe; too afraid that even the slightest sound will shatter this- this fragile, delicate moment.

 

“Kouki _,_ ” Akashi says, his eyes raw with intensity.

And it’s too much; the way Akashi is looking at him, his voice, the intimacy of it all – too much how badly Furihata wants him, so much it hurts. It hurts, and that scares Furihata because it’s becoming clear to him now that this is far more than a crush. And Furihata can’t have it _be_ more than a crush. Because what lies beyond that is out of his control and Furihata knows if he let himself fall, he’ll fall hard. And when he lands, it won’t be just bumps and bruises; it’ll be broken bones and punctured lungs and a bleeding heart and- and Furihata _can’t._

So when Akashi’s thumb moves to touch his lower lip, Furihata stops him. Gently, he takes Akashi’s wrist and moves his hand away, lowering his own head to hide his burning face.

 

Akashi narrows his eyes, though he doesn’t make another move to touch him. Watching Furihata carefully, he speaks, “You’re about to say it again.”

 

“E-eh?” Furihata looks up.

 

“After all you’ve just said,” Akashi’s voice is cold, “You’re about to tell me you can’t see me anymore.”

 

As always, Akashi is right. Furihata swallows, “I-it won’t be a permanent thing-“

 

“You mentioned that last time,” Akashi levels his gaze at him, “I expect you have an explanation to provide this time?”

 

“Ah- y-yes,” Furihata nods. “But it’s- um- it’s complicated.”

 

“I believe my mental capacity will be able to handle it.”

 

“O-of course.” Furihata inhales, preparing himself. “I- um, well, my parents, that is- with me, I- ano, I-”

 

“Yes?” Akashi prompts.

 

“I’m getting engaged.”

 

The silence that follows is deafening.

 

The temperature in the room drops by several degrees, and Akashi’s eyes are so big in his skull that they look like they’re about to pop out.

 

“Ah-! No, t-that came out wrong,” Furihata quickly corrects himself, “I meant my p-parents, they’re trying to set up a match for me. I-it’s not like it’s definitely happening. I haven’t even met any of the girls, and I, um, I d-don’t think I’ll say yes to a-any of them anyway.”

 

Akashi relaxes the fists he didn’t even realize were clenching. There are sounds of wheezing from spots on the sofa where Akashi’s fingernails had punched right through the leather.

 

“So. So, um-” Furihata continues, his voice growing smaller with every second Akashi stares at him without speaking, “T-that’s why I can’t see A-Akashi-kun for a while. Because it’s- I’ll be, um, b-busy. With the whole thing. A-avoiding it, that is.”

 

“Busy.” Akashi repeats, flatly.

 

It’s really not fair how one word from Akashi’s lips can make Furihata doubt everything in what he previously believed was a fool-proof plan. It had seemed perfect at the time; he’s not lying for one (which would’ve been a massive mistake because it would take Akashi less than a second to see through him), and with this excuse it’ll buy Furihata enough time away from Akashi to let the distance between them diminish his feelings.

 

The only problem is that Akashi appears to be entirely displeased and Furihata doesn’t understand why.

 

“A-Akashi-kun,” Furihata gathers the minimal courage that he has to ask, “Are you- are you mad at me?”

 

“What gives you the impression?” Akashi’s voice is impossibly casual for someone who looks like they’re about to burn everything down with those flaming eyes alone.

 

“Um, well,” Furihata fidgets, “You’re… glaring.” That’s a more subtle way of putting it. Not to mention, Akashi’s hands are twitching like he wants to break someone’s ankle – and not in the basketball sense, either – but Furihata thinks it’d be wise not to point that out.

 

“Hn,” Akashi crosses his arms, “I’m not thrilled.”

 

That much is obvious. What’s not so obvious to Furihata is _why_. “Y-you’re angry… because you won’t get to see me?”

 

Akashi scoffs, “I’m hardly ecstatic about that, whatever your true reason for periodically evading me may be. But to answer your question – no, Kouki, I am not angry because of that in particular.”

 

Furihata tries to pretend Akashi did not just completely dismiss his supposedly ‘fool-proof’ explanation. He bravely tries again, “Ano… t-then why are you angry?”

 

“I am angry,” Akashi says slowly, looking directly at Furihata, “Because something precious to me is about to be stolen away.”

 

Despite all efforts to convince himself that Akashi isn’t talking about him, Furihata ends up blushing anyways. It’s hard not to, when Akashi is looking at him like this; like he’s indeed precious, and even more so, like he belongs entirely to Akashi.

 

And Furihata thinks he must be going crazy to yearn for that intense possessiveness in Akashi’s eyes.

 

“S-something precious…?” Furihata has to ask, and hates himself for sounding hopeful. Because, surely, it’s impossible. Akashi is practically a demigod and Furihata is- well, Furihata. There is no way that someone like Akashi would-

 

“You, Kouki.” Akashi says, like it’s simple. Like the words don’t turn Furihata’s world upside down.

 

Furihata stares at Akashi with eyes so wide they almost look comical. He gapes, like he’s about to say something, before changing his mind and closing his mouth again, only continuing to ogle Akashi like he’s grown an extra head.

 

Akashi tilts his chin, observing Furihata’s reaction with interest, “You appear to be in disbelief. Do you mean to tell me that you have no inclination as to how I feel about you whatsoever?”

 

“…how- f-feel?” Furihata manages to squeak. What even are words anymore?

 

Akashi raises his eyebrows. “You haven’t the slightest clue?”

 

Mutely, Furihata shakes his head.

 

Akashi stares, “How you managed to survive twenty-eight years of your life with this level of naivety is beyond me.”

 

Furihata doesn’t know what to say. His heart is thumping so hard against his ribcage he is half-afraid it might force its way out.

 

“I will have you know, then, Kouki,” Akashi says, looking straight at Furihata, “That for the past ten years I never once stopped regretting letting you go.”

 

Furihata inhales sharply. The words ache in his chest like an old wound being reopened.

 

“I never stopped wondering where you are, how you are doing – whether or not you would remember me if you saw me.”

 

Furihata chews on his lower lip and wonders. Is it possible that they may have walked past each other without knowing? Been in the same place at the same time but kept missing each other? The thought makes Furihata sad – the kind of sadness that’s just that extra bit lonely too.

 

“I never forgot about you. I never forgot a single moment between us. Ten years - and now that you finally return, some woman thinks she has the right to take you away from me,” Akashi’s face remains placid, but his red orbs gleam in a way that reminds Furihata of fresh blood, “It’s _infuriating_.”

 

Akashi hisses the word like he would kill said woman without hesitation, and Furihata knows he should be wary – every instinct in his body is screaming danger, blazing alarms at him. However, Furihata only hears them enough to be scared; not enough to make him run away. He may be a coward and possibly a fool, but Furihata is certain in the feeling that he doesn’t want to run away and leave Akashi behind.

 

Akashi continues, “Being raised in my family, I never wanted for much, as there is little that I don’t have,” he pauses and, incredibly, those blood-red eyes transform right before Furihata’s eyes. They soften, in that perfect way that makes Furihata feel weak in the knees, just as Akashi says, “But ever since I was a child, Kouki, I never stopped wanting you to be mine.”

 

It takes everything Furihata has in that moment not to grab Akashi and tell him everything – tell him that, yes, he wants that too;that he is already completely Akashi’s for the taking; that he wants nothing more.

 

But instead, Furihata sits there stiff with his hands clenched to stop them from reaching out to the one person who means more to him than he’ll let himself acknowledge.

 

He realizes that Akashi is waiting for him to say something, but Furihata does not have anything to say. He’s at a deadlock – he won’t let himself fall into Akashi’s arms, but he doesn’t want to leave. What is it exactly that he’s supposed to do, then? What can he even say?

 

“Ah-” Furihata gasps, too loudly, when Akashi reaches over to touch his face once again. And this time, when Akashi’s thumb moves to touch his lips, Furihata doesn’t have it in him to pull away.

 

Slowly, Akashi runs the pad of his thumb across Furihata’s lower lip, stopping when he reaches the plumpest bit in the middle.

 

“Kouki,” Akashi says, and Furihata shivers at the sound of his voice.

 

Akashi’s index finger is beneath his chin, now, tilting Furihata’s face upwards. Weakly, Furihata places his hands on Akashi’s chest like an attempt at a barrier, but he cannot find the power to actually push him away. So Akashi moves closer, and closer still, and Furihata cannot stop himself from looking at Akashi’s lips just as much as he cannot force himself to put a stop to this.

 

Because Akashi is right here, right in front of him, telling him that he wants this – wants _him_ – and all the while smelling like ice and fire and something forbidden and completely addictive. Because he is Akashi who, since ten years ago, has taken up his very own space in Furihata’s heart and never left. Because he is the same Akashi who looks at Furihata – plain, ordinary Furihata – like he’s the only thing that matters in this world, with his eyes deep and dark red like wine and Furihata wants nothing more than to get drunk. 

 

“Kouki,” Akashi whispers on his lips, and Furihata feels like he’s breaking apart.

 

Furihata closes his eyes, his fingers gripping Akashi’s vest tight. In a trembling, uncertain voice, he murmurs, “A-Akashi-kun, I t-think-”

 

Then Akashi is kissing him and Furihata loses the ability to think altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nine chapters in and they only just got to first base. Yay for slow burn? xD
> 
> As always, thank you for all your comments and support – I love reading every one of your thoughts! I do try to update monthly (give or take a week or two) so thank you all for being super patient with this fic xx


	10. Want to Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Takao is made a third wheel and an adviser.

Kissing Furihata is not like kissing anyone else, Akashi is sure.

 

And yes, there had been others. Of course. The thing about being excessively intelligent is that it comes with _curiosity_ – couple that with a face like Akashi’s plus his apt for manipulation and a kiss is just inevitable, really.

 

The first time was in Middle School, and Akashi would be lying to say he didn’t see it coming – or that he didn’t drop little hints here and there to suggest the idea. Akashi just didn’t expect it would happen like _that_ , in that precise moment. They were discussing team strategies in the clubroom, his then-team captain leaning over his shoulder to look at his notes, and Akashi had turned around to ask a question when Nijimura kissed him. Sudden, short, spontaneous. It was over in a second.

 

Akashi blinked at him twice before proceeding to ask his question with barely any reaction. Nijimura just chuckled and ruffled his hair.

 

It had seemed rather… casual. A natural progression of their skinship. Which then happened again. And again. It became some sort of routine; a peck or two each time they had a private team meeting. They never talked about it. Akashi never questioned it, just allowed it to happen.

 

Then there were others. Girls, guys- _experiments_. Shows of dominance. Inebriated dares. Testing the waters and seeing whether there was anything to that perfect synchronicity after all. Using it as punishment, as reward. Sparks of lust after a particularly hard practice to take the edge off. Goodnight kisses from someone that adored him completely. Rebellious midnight affairs because Akashi is in a dorm in Kyoto and his father will never know.

 

Each time it was different, and mostly good. Sometimes _really_ good – because when has Akashi ever been bad at anything?

__But everything pales in comparison to kissing Furihata in this moment.

 

It’s not even like Furihata is the greatest kisser in Akashi’s experience – Mibuchi Reo had already won that competition by a mile and ruined it for anyone else Akashi will ever lay his lips on – but none of that matters because no other kiss had ever felt so- _important._

 

Never has Akashi felt this strongly when kissing someone; there had been desire, of course, but never this sense of overwhelming _thrill_ , bringing him on the verge of possession, and there’s an ache somewhere he can’t place which has never been there before.

 “A-Akashi-kun…?” Furihata whispers uncertainly, and the nervous little hitch in his breath makes Akashi want to _ruin_ him.

So Akashi kisses him again, lips moving slow, savouring every taste, liking how he can pinpoint the exact moment Furihata’s hesitation dissolves and he melts right into Akashi’s arms. At the point of breaking, Furihata makes this small keening voice in the back of his throat – like a plea, one last surge of resistance – before he gives in to Akashi completely; and Akashi knows beyond a doubt that he would _kill_ to hear Furihata make that noise again, over and over.

It’s startling, how much Akashi wants him. Like he hadn’t wanted anything in a very long time – maybe ever.

So much that he almost _growls_ when Furihata pulls away from the kiss. And Akashi has to grit his teeth to stop himself because growling would be entirely ungraceful and far too much like something _Aomine_ would do and that’s frankly unacceptable.

Furihata is panting shallowly, hiding his face, forehead nestled in the crook of Akashi’s neck. Both his hands are gripping the front of Akashi’s shirt. He’s likely crinkling the expensive fabric and he’d usually be worried about that, but right now Furihata’s brain is- well, malfunctioning would be an understatement.

“Um,” Furihata starts to speak before he realizes he has zero idea what it is he actually wants to say. He’s supposed to say something, he’s sure, but all his brain can manage right now is, “-uh.”

Akashi resists pulling Furihata straight back into another kiss, reminding himself that, no, he has more self-control than that _._ Akashi _refuses_ to be like Aomine.“What’s the matter, Kouki?”

“…” What’s the matter is that Furihata is a full-grown adult who’s just kissed a high school student who is ten years his junior and was previously a _child_ _under his care_. And if that’s not already all kinds of wrong, the kiss itself just happens to be freaking _stellar –_ in fact, Furihata’s pretty sure it’s one of the best kisses he’s ever had in his life and that’s so unfortunate and unfair in so many ways.

“If you have any complaints you should voice them now,” Akashi says, eyelids lowered, “Because your nape is bared in front of me and it makes me want to kiss your neck until it bruises.”

Furihata swallows down a whimper that threatens to escape. Thank goodness his face his buried in Akashi’s shoulder because Furihata’s rather certain at this point the colour of his cheeks matches Akashi’s hair. Ugh, Akashi is _not_ fair. “P-p-please wait, Akashi-kun…”

Waiting is a tall order when Furihata’s blushing all the way to his ears and Akashi is intensely tempted to nibble on them.

“I am waiting,” Akashi says, then decides to nip once at Furihata’s earlobe anyway, because- fuck it, who cares about self-control when Furihata’s this _cute_.

“Ah-!” Furihata tries not to jump or squeak because he is a twenty-eight year old man and not a silly schoolgirl. Even though Akashi does make him feel like one and that’s really not supposed to be a good thing. “A-ano… please d-don’t do that, either.”

“Why not?” Akashi murmurs next to Furihata’s ear, warm breath sending chills down his spine.

 “B-because I c-can’t- c-can’t-” His stuttering is getting out of control. So is his heartbeat. And his breathing. _Get it together, Kouki!_  “I can’t t-think when you d-do things- like- l-like that…”

Furihata, bless him, probably doesn’t know how precious he is when he’s all stammering and trembling in Akashi’s arms. _Like a puppy._ Unfortunately it only makes Akashi want to bully him just a tiny bit more.

“Things?” Akashi whispers before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh behind Furihata’s ear. “Like _this_?”

 

Furihata does _not_ moan, managing to bite the sound back, and is immensely proud of himself. The very visible shudder that goes through his spine, however, is just as bad. The worst part is that Furihata is at least ninety-five percent sure Akashi is teasing him. He can _hear_ the devious smirk in Akashi’s voice, and that’s not cute at all, so there is no reason why Furihata should find everything about this so absolutely irresistable.

 

“I- I-” Furihata shakes his head, “A-Akashi-kun, I’m t-ten years older than you...”

 

God, just saying it out loud makes him feel like that much more of a pervert. 

 

Akashi appears unfazed, pulling back to stare at Furihata’s face, “Do you seriously think I care the slightest bit about that, Kouki?”

 

Furihata doesn’t look at him, “B-but- you _should_ -”

 

“No,” Akashi cuts him off, “There is no reason why I should care. And neither should you, for that matter.”

 

“But-” Furihata looks at a loss. “You’re my _student._ ”

 

“Not your student. You were the student. I _was_ a child, but not anymore,” Akashi’s hand comes up to sift through Furihata’s hair as his red eyes lower to Furihata’s lips, “I have certain means to convince you of how much I’m no longer a child, if that’s what you need.”

 

Furihata flushes at least three different shades of pink. “I- I think I’m- t-t-thoroughly convinced, just now...”

 

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

 

“But- but we _can’t._ ”

 

“Why not?”

 

“B-because- er-” Arguing with Akashi is _difficult_ when every statement seem far too logical to oppose and he has a way of making everything he says sound absolutely correct. Furihata can’t compete with that level of politician-worthy skill. Having Akashi’s hands caressing him here and there is not helping, either. The fingers in his hair are somewhat tolerable; Akashi’s thumb repetitively circling over his hip-bone, however, is downright _distracting._

 

“T-this is-” Furihata struggles to find the word, “-inappropriate.”

 

Akashi blinks once, then actually chuckles, “Of course it is.”

 

“E-eh?”

 

“There is nothing appropriate-” Akashi’s thumb dips beneath Furihata’s waistband, the sudden skin-on-skin contact making Furihata jolt. “-about the way I want to touch you, Kouki.”

 

The sharp intake of breath Furihata makes is much too loud. If Furihata’s cheeks were red before, they’re definitely beetroot now, and blood is rushing all over to places Furihata doesn’t even want to think about. Nothing- _nothing_ about this is okay, and Furihata has to put a stop to it before it gets further out of hand.

 

Decisively, but not without difficulty, Furihata jerks away from Akashi’s arms and stands up, backing away a few steps and- wow, his knees are _weak._ How did that even happen? Just from having Akashi’s hands on him? Maybe. Definitely.

 

Akashi doesn’t follow, only crossing his arms and eyeing Furihata from the sofa as though he expected this reaction sooner or later.

 

Trying not to wobble on his unsteady legs, Furihata attempts to pull himself together, “I can’t d-do this, Akashi-kun.”

 

He only stutters _once_ in that whole sentence. Talk about accomplishment.

 

“You can’t?” Akashi tilts his head, “Or you won’t?”

 

“I-is that important?”

 

“Very.”

 

“Um...” Furihata chews on his lower lip, where it’s still tingling from when Akashi kissed him. Maybe he bit there a little- Okay, nope nope nope, not letting his thoughts go there. “...I can’t, so that’s why I won’t?”

 

Yes. Good. That’s a good, acceptable reply. And he didn’t even stutter! _Score_.

 

Akashi stares at him evenly, “Does that mean you want to?”

 

Damn. Furihata was doing so well, too. Why must Akashi ask so many questions? This one, especially, Furihata can’t bring himself to answer. If he lies, Akashi will know. If he doesn’t- well...

 

 _Yes. Yes, god yes, I want to. I want to very much and you’re an amazing kisser and it still burns where your hands touched and it’s so wrong but it feels right and it’s electrifying and it only makes me want to do it more and more and I just_ want _-_

 

Furihata looks at his feet, “T-that doesn’t matter.”

 

Akashi narrows his eyes, “It matters to me.”

 

“W-well, even if I do _-_ w-which I’m not saying I _do_ -” Ugh. He’s _such_ a terrible liar. This is failing. Badly. “-i-it doesn’t change the fact that I _can’t_ , Akashi-kun. I w-won’t.”

 

Furihata _hopes_ that sounds firm enough.

 

“Hm,” Akashi frowns, considering. This is a predicament. He didn’t expect Furihata to be so stubborn, for one, and also, he still doesn’t really get why the age thing is even an issue. It’s not like he’s still six-years-old and it’ll be a criminal act – he’s eighteen, _legal,_ and is pretty sure his mental maturity is so far beyond his age for any issues of consent to be raised so, really, what is there for Furihata to worry about?

 

Furihata clearly liked it when he kissed him. Which is a massive relief like Akashi did not expect because it would’ve been unimaginable if Furihata didn’t feel that electricity too. It is simply incomprehensible for something so strong to only be felt one-sidedly. Akashi has no doubt that the feelings are mutual – that much had been confirmed when Furihata _kissed him back_. And that, in itself, had felt like a reward more satisfying than anything Akashi’s ever won since Yukimaru.

 

Which also makes it more difficult for Akashi to resolve Furihata’s unwillingness- because he _isn’t_ unwilling, not really, it’s just that he’s got all these morals and he’s so freaking _honest._ Not that Akashi doesn’t like that about him; truthfully, it’s part of why Akashi finds him so charming in the first place. But in this situation, it’s just problematic. If only Furihata had enough of a rebellious streak to break and bend the rules for pleasure just a little this would all be so much easier.

 

But easier wouldn’t get him Furihata.

 

And Akashi has never been one to back down from a challenge.

 

“Fine,” Akashi says, suppressing a sigh, “I won’t touch Kouki anymore.”

 

“Oh.” Is that disappointment he hears in his voice? No. No it isn’t. He’s _not_ disappointed – _stop it, Furihata Kouki, this is what you wanted_. “T-that’s good.”

 

It _is_ good... right? Yes, this is a good thing. Furihata has to believe that; disregard that horrible hollow feeling in his chest.

 

Akashi waits a beat before he stands, “That, however, does not mean I will stop my efforts.”

 

“H-huh?” Furihata blinks, not understanding.

 

Akashi takes two long strides towards him, stopping just in front of Furihata. When they’re standing this close, it’s clear that Akashi is taller than him (and Akashi will never stop being pleased about that). He leans over just slightly and looks right into Furihata’s eyes as he speaks, “You should be aware, I have intentions.”

 

“I-intentions...?” Furihata repeats the word slowly. He thinks he sort of has an idea what Akashi is saying but it’s hard to concentrate when Akashi’s lips are right there almost at his eye-level. _Distracting._ Not to mention, Akashi is doing that staring-into-his-soul thing again which seems to always turn Furihata’s brain into gloop. No one’s eyes should be allowed to be that intense _and_ that beautiful.

 

“Yes,” Akashi says, his voice low, “And I will pursue you until those intentions are _thoroughly_ achieved.”

 

Furihata swallows, slow and hard, finding it difficult to breathe when Akashi looks at him like he wants to _devour_ him. His chest _hurts_ – a dull ache, like a scar that never healed properly; the wound having been reopened and deepening ever since that first night in Kinosaki when he got re-acquainted with those ruby red eyes that he never managed to forget about.

 

Akashi’s lips curl into a sly smirk – the same self-assured curve that appears whenever Akashi steps on the court and knows that he will, definitely and _absolutely,_ achieve victory,

 

“--You will be mine, Kouki.”

 

 

...

 

 

Takao Kazunari is not amused.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ when Shin-chan has friends over – it’s a miracle in itself that Midorima has any friends at all, being the socially awkward (but still definitely adorable) bamboo tree Takao knows him to be – it’s just that Takao’s never particularly thrilled when said friend is one Akashi Seijuuro.

 

i.e. the ex(?)-sociopath tyrant captain of Rakuzan who Takao is pretty sure had a personality disorder not too long ago – and is that gone for good now or under-control or what? – and definitely still has a weird complex about winning everything at the expense of everything; Midorima included.

 

i.e. the asshole that made Shin-chan cry that one time.

 

Admittedly, Akashi in recent years has shown much less psychopathic tendencies compared to first year, and they’ve hung out outside of the court and Akashi’s been cool, but Takao’s never entirely convinced no matter how many times Midorima tries to assure him that Akashi’s ‘better’ now – whatever that’s supposed to mean. Whatever. Takao’s protective (he worries about Midorima, he does), and he’s not going to apologize about that.

 

Plus, Takao is, like, 70% convinced that there is some sort of _history_ between them. Not the whole childhood-friends history, he knows about that; this is the you’ve-definitely-kissed-at-least-once kind of history. And Takao’s not jealous or anything but- well, it’s far from _fun_ when Akashi just _turns up_ without warning and Midorima promptly drops everything and Takao is then subjected to having to watch two nerds bonding/conducting mental warfare over a board game. For 2 hours. At _least_. Seriously, why can’t Shin-chan be best friends with someone more normal? Surely, in Midorima’s (very limited) group of friends there must be-

 

_‘The only one who can beat me is me!’_

_‘Hard work, guts, faith – I’ll crush them all...’_

_‘I am a shadow.’_

 

Ah, no. Of course not.

 

Freaking Generation of Miracles.

 

\--Actually, Kuroko is not too bad. Takao enjoys being the only one who can spot him all the time, for a start, and they’ve bonded over hiding in bushes spying over their boyfriends’ awkward basketball conversations. It’s a shame he sort of gets the vibe that Kuroko doesn’t really get along with Midorima outside of basketball-related things – something about how Cancer and Aquarius don’t mix, Midorima said.

 

Kise is also relatively more normal than the rest of them – and ridiculously good looking, which is nothing to complain about (eye candy is always welcome) – but Midorima flinches every time Kise squeals a ‘ _Kurokocchiii!’_ in a radius of 10 metres so Takao suspects they won’t be besties anytime in the near future.

 

Akashi Seijuuro and hours and hours of very quiet, very tense board game sessions it is, then.

 

Damn.

 

Takao flops face-first into the sofa, planning to bury his face in Midorima’s pillow and stay there until Akashi leaves. Sleeping surrounded by Midorima’s scent is always a great way to past time. Maybe if he starts suffocating Midorima will notice and stop playing earlier...

 

“---don’t believe that’s a good idea, Akashi. Any of it. You should stay away from him.”

 

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion on the matter.”

 

“You’re the one who came to my house so, clearly, you want my input.”

 

- _is that... are they talking?_ About an hour later Takao sleepily perks up at the unusual amount of noise. _Arguing?_

 

Midorima and Akashi are sitting opposite each other, their board game already over and folded away but still looking just as tense as when they were competing. Midorima even has his arms crossed over his chest, and Takao knowsthat basically translates to: _I am not impressed-nanodayo._

Huh. Good. Maybe if they get mad at each other Akashi will stop popping up to Tokyo to interrupt them so often.

 

“I asked for _advice_ , not your approval.” Akashi’s voice is snappish.

 

Midorima frowns, “You want advice?”

 

“Yes, that is what I just said-”

 

“Stay away from him. That’s my advice.”

 

 _Wow, sass, Shin-chan._ Takao is mildly proud.

 

Akashi’s eyes narrow dangerously, “Don’t try me, _Shintarou_.”

 

 _Oh, crap. That’s not good._ Takao recognizes threat when he sees it and immediately goes over to Midorima’s rescue, subtly removing a letter opener from the table when he gets there. Any sharp objects in Akashi’s vicinity is instantly tagged as unsafe in Takao’s mind – he’s heard the stories, he’s not taking the risk. “Whoa, hey, chill for a second. What are you two talking about?”

 

“Nothing that concerns you.” Akashi doesn’t even look at him, keeping his death stare exclusively on Midorima.

 

Takao prides himself on being easy-going so he simply smiles and lets that one slide, “Ah, but I might be helpful? Third perspective and all that? Shin-chan’s super smart but he’s not, like, _great_ with people, y’know...”

 

Midorima side-glances at him. _What are you up to?_

 

 _I’m trying to help you, Shin-chan!_ “Sooo, how about it? I’ve been told that I give _excellent_ advice, by the way. Not like this tsundere over here.”

 

“Takao,” Midorima says, stern, because for the 106th time he is _not_ a tsundere or whatever stupid otaku term like ‘moe’ or ‘bishounen’ Takao likes to use to describe him.

 

Akashi finally glances at Takao and acknowledges that he is part of the conversation – partially because he can see that Midorima is irritated by Takao’s light teasings and that pleases him. Serves Midorima right for being insufferable. “Fine. You can agree with me and tell Shintarou that he’s wrong.”

 

Midorima indignantly pushes up his glasses, “Or he’d agree that I’m right and that you’re being an idiot.”

 

“Just because he’s sleeping with you doesn’t mean he’s completely senseless,” Akashi mildly jabs before turning to face Takao, “I can trust that you will give your unbiased opinion, Kazunari?”

 

 _Wow, sudden first name basis. Does that mean he sees me as one of his underlings now? Ack._ Takao smiles stiffly, raising three fingers, “Scout’s honour.”

 

 _But wait, when did Akashi find out-_ Takao turns to check for Midorima’s reaction and is surprised to find that it’s as stoic and still as usual. _Huh. Maybe Shin-chan forgot to mention he told Akashi already._

 

Akashi nods, satisfied. “Good.”

 

 

...

 

 

Takao can’t help it. He doesn’t _want_ to side with Akashi, not at all. Knowing of Midorima’s disapproval, he’d expected Akashi’s love interest to be some sort of powerful person; maybe someone involved with the yakuza or something equally dangerous. Takao cannot be further from the truth. When he finds out that it’s _Furihata Kouki_ _–_ the very ordinary, plain, completely harmless elementary school teacher – Takao is more than surprised. Furthermore, he can’t help but find their story just—

 

“I think it’s cute,” Takao shrugs, “Sorry, Shin-chan.”

 

Akashi looks annoyingly smug. “I’m glad you are more sensible than Shintarou, at least.”

 

Midorima, on the other hand, glares at Takao in betrayal. _Traitor._ “I can’t believe you think this is a good idea.”

 

“But it’s _super cute,_ ” Childhood crushes? Reuniting after ten years of missing each other? Takao is a sucker for romance, sue him.“Come on, Shin-chan, what’s the hold back? From what Akashi’s told us it sounds like they like each other plenty, why shouldn’t we help him go for it?”

 

Midorima stares at him incredulously, “Do I have to remind you that he’s _ten years older_? And met Akashi in the role of his _caretaker_? How does that not raise a hundred red flags in your mind?”

 

“I don’t see why it matters that Kouki’s ten years older,” Akashi says. Why does everyone keep harping on about that?

 

Takao tilts his head, “Ehh, but it’s not like Akashi’s a child anymore though? My dad’s eleven years older than my mum, it’s not that strange.”

 

“My point exactly.” Akashi is starting to approve of Takao a little more.

 

“But Akashi’s still in _high school-_ ” Midorima wants to throw up his hands, “It’s not a matter of age, it’s a matter of _advantage._ With the way they met and the position he is in now, Furihata can easily take advantage of Akashi.”

 

There is a long, long minute of silence.

 

Then Takao bursts into a massive fit of giggles, “Oh my god, _Shin-chan._ I _cannot_ believe you just- I can’t- this is too funny! You’re joking, right? Please, _please_ tell me you’re joking?”

 

“What?” Midorima frowns, deadly serious. “I am deadly serious, Takao.”

 

“Oh my god,” Takao only laughs harder, so much that he’s bending over and thumping the table with his fist.

 

“Honestly, Shintarou,” Even Akashi looks extremely amused, “Furihata Kouki. Taking advantage of me _._ Akashi Seijuuro. Really.Is that truly your major concern?”

 

Midorima is flushing a little now and nudges his glasses self-consciously, “It’s a genuine issue. I don’t understand why you two find it so funny.”

 

“Because it’s like you’re saying a chihuahua will take advantage of a lion!” Takao literally has tears coming out of his eyes he’s laughing so hard. Just thinking about it is funny.

 

“ _Fine_.” Midorima says, exasperated, “Then there’s the issue of you both being male. What would you do if your father found out, Akashi?”

 

 _Like you’re one to talk._ Akashi thinks waspishly, mood immediately darkened. “We are not discussing my father.”

 

Takao’s laughter has also noticeably died down. _Way to choose a topic to sober me up, Shin-chan._

“He’ll find out. You know he will.”

 

“I _said_ , we are notdiscussing this.”

 

“But you’ll have to, eventually. You know better than anyone how he’s like. Do you truly think you can hide it from him?”

 

Akashi exhales, long and slow. Midorima wants to push it? Alright. He can push, too. “What about you, then, Shintarou? When do _you_ plan to tell your father about Kazunari?”

 

Midorima goes very, very still. “...what about Takao?”

 

It takes a lot for Midorima to remain calm and not immediately freak out and go sprinting for his lucky item.

 

 _Ah. So he_ didn’t _tell him –_ that much Takao can gauge from Midorima’s horrified expression. _Shin-chan just completely missed the comment earlier then, huh._ Takao is honestly worried about him, sometimes. At this rate Midorima’s going to admit to things without even realising it and run into who knows what sorts of trouble.

 

Akashi scoffs, “Do you really want me to go into the details of what you do with your point guard in your private time? Because I’d much rather not.”

 

Midorima clears his throat, “...how long have you known?”

 

“Long enough. You two aren’t exactly subtle.” So what if it was Furihata who pointed it out to him? Midorima doesn’t need to know that. “What’s the plan, then? When _do_ you intend to tell your father?”

 

“I asked you first, Akashi.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

This is not mature – no, it’s downright _childish._ They are last year high school students bickering like children, but even so, Akashi has to _win._

 

Takao raises a hand, “Um, question. Why do I get the feeling that ‘telling your father’ means something completely different for you guys than it does for me to come out to my dad?”

 

Midorima glances over at Takao – _later, we’ll talk about this later, when we’re alone –_ then back at Akashi. He sighs, “You’re right. We’re not discussing this.”

 

“I’m always right,” That’s what Akashi likes to hear, “Now do proceed to tell me why I should stay away from Kouki. You seem to have plenty to say on that matter.”

 

“What’s the point? It’s not like you’re going to listen.” Midorima is not sulking. He’s not.

 

“I will, if you start telling me why _you_ think it’s a bad idea. Not what you believe would best convince me.”

 

 _I swear they sound like an old married couple._ Takao shakes his head. _Why am I the third wheel in this? I am so not supposed to be the third wheel in this._

 

“Honestly?” Midorima uncrosses his arms and sets his hands on the table, “I know he’s important to you. You even admit it yourself. Considering what happened last time, I don’t want to see what it’ll do to you if he leaves again.”

 

Akashi softens a little at that. “I understand why you may be concerned. But it’s not going to happen.”

 

“You don’t know that. You may think you do, but this isn’t basketball. You can’t predict the future in these matters,” Midorima rubs a hand down his face. “Akashi. You even told me Furihata himself doesn’t think it’s a good idea. I think that’s a sign.”

 

“He’s just-” Akashi motions a hand in front of himself, “-stubborn. In denial. It’s cute. But inconvenient. Which is why I came to you for advice.”

 

_Because you generally tend to be stubborn and in denial, too._

 

“Your zodiac signs aren’t compatible.” It _has_ to be said. Because Midorima can’t not mention that when they’re talking about _signs._

 

Akashi blinks. “What?”

 

Takao tries not to laugh.

 

“Furihata’s a Scorpio. You’re a Sagittarius.” Midorima says, like that explains anything.

Akashi only stares at him blankly. “Are you going to help me or not?”

 

“Yes,” Midorima nods once, “I’m just saying. Furihata’s a Scorpio.”

 

Akashi frowns. “What are you-”

 

Takao gives in and laughs outright, swinging an arm around Midorima’s shoulder, “What Shin-chan is _trying_ to say is that he’ll help, even though it may be difficult. And hey, since I’m here anyway, I’ll help too if you want?”

 

It’s probably best not to leave these two geniuses to help themselves in relationshipmatters, Takao decides. From his experience, the Generation of Miracles require quite a bit of guidance in that department. Himuro and he had been exchanging tips and tricks on how to handle them for years; because if Midorima’s special case, then _Murasakibara_ is _extra_ special case. Takao has no idea how Himuro does it, really. Probably with lots of candy.

 

“That-” _is not necessary_ is on the tip of Akashi’s tongue, but he catches himself. Because, thinking about it, if anyone’s good with handling people who are stubborn and in denial, it’s Takao. Hell, he’s probably an expert, having been around – no, even better, _dating -_ Midorima for the past three years. Akashi nods primly, “-would be appreciated.”

 

Midorima seems to agree, “Takao’s a Scorpio, too. His perspective would be helpful.”

 

Takao can’t help but giggle a little because Midorima is _still_ going on about horoscopes. _God, Shin-chan is hopeless._ “Great! It’s decided then. Operation ‘win over Furihata Kouki’ AKA ‘catching the chihuahua’ start-o!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kowtows* My deepest apologies for being awful at updating. This chapter is SUPER delayed but life just gets in the way, ack. Also I re-wrote this chapter far too many times before I’m finally happy with it – there’s literally a whole chapter’s worth of text of kissing scene alternatives on my drive, woops.
> 
> So if you’re still here and reading this, THANK YOU. I won’t make promises I can’t keep about when I’ll update next, but I definitely will finish this fic to the end.


	11. Fall for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akashi plays a one-on-one against Furihata.

Furihata has no idea what he is doing with his life.

 

He has gone to bed telling himself repetitively that he will not – absolutely _will not_ – let himself be swept away by Akashi Seijuuro. No matter how mature Akashi may be for his age, Furihata is still the adult here and he should not be encouraging any kind of romantic relationship between them. Even if Akashi makes his blood rush hot and his chest beat hard like no one else before. Even if he may never feel this intense, deep ache longing for anyone else like this again. It doesn’t matter. Some things are inappropriate, and there are rules, and that is that.

 

…or so Furihata tells himself.

 

Yet here he is, standing on an outdoor court about to play basketball with the one and only Akashi Seijuuro. One-on-one. On a weekend.

 

_This is… definitely a date._ Furihata thinks. _And I’m a complete failure for letting it happen._

But what can Furihata do when Akashi calls him up in the morning telling him he’s waiting outside of his door, and then holds up a basketball and smiles at him in that subtle, gentle, heart-melting way that Furihata swears is peeled right out of a shoujo manga.

 

Plus, it’s only polite when Akashi’s already at his place. And Akashi’s only in Tokyo for the weekend anyways. And it’s just a basketball game, what’s the harm? Plus, Furihata’s always wondered what it would be like to play against Akashi, who’s the _captain_ of the Generation of Miracles and, let’s be real, that’s an opportunity _any_ basketball player would jump at, and- and all of this has nothing to do with how Furihata felt his heart properly fall out of his chest when he saw Akashi’s smile, _not at all_ \--

 

\--Apart from the fact that even as a child Akashi never smiled much, so those rare moments had always been precious to Furihata. Akashi’s few and far between smiles back then made Furihata want to spoil him to anything and everything he wanted.

 

Even ten years later, not much has changed in that regard.

 

“Are you ready, Kouki?” Akashi says, casually bouncing the ball at his side. Even watching him like this, Furihata can tell that Akashi’s control of the ball is exceptional.

 

“Ah- y-yup.”

 

“First to five per game?” Akashi holds up five fingers.

 

Furihata nods, and in an attempt to not look completely terrified, he adds, “D-don’t hold back on me.”

 

Akashi’s lips quirk, “I won’t.”

 

As soon as Akashi’s hand comes down, his stance changes. His eyes sharpen, narrowing down and focusing as he drops his knees and almost- transform. Even the air around him prickles with a thickened aura of intimidation. Chills run down the back of Furihata’s neck and arms as he watches Akashi dribble towards him, and it suddenly becomes clear to Furihata that he has never, in his entire history of playing, faced an opponent of this caliber.

 

If the aces he went up against before in the inter-High and the university games were beasts, then Akashi is beyond that, beyond monstrous, almost like-

 

_-a god._

 

Furihata thinks in awe as he watches Akashi perform a perfectly graceful lay-up; meanwhile, Furihata is down on his butt on the floor where he has landed after Akashi ankle-broke him. For the third time.

 

“5-0 to me,” Akashi says, as the ball whooshes through the hoop without grazing the rim. He offers Furihata his hand, “Another round?”

 

Furihata takes it to get up and tries not to stare down at his palm afterwards like some star struck fanatic who just got a chance to shake hands with their lifelong idol. “S-sure.”

 

Akashi’s play isn’t feral like most ace basketball players; it’s actually quite the opposite. He’s elegant in his movements, high-level techniques absolutely textbook-perfect without a single drop of energy wasted. He’s fast, too. As if he can always tell what Furihata is going to do even before Furihata does it. It had been incredible to watch Akashi play on the court before, but playing _against_ him, up close like this, is something else completely.

 

Furihata can’t even get himself to feel frustrated or down about how he hasn’t gotten even a single shot in who-knows how many games. Half the time Furihata is too distracted being amazed at Akashi’s skills.

 

Not that Furihata isn’t trying, because he is. Furihata is sweating bullets, the tips of his hair dripping, the back of his t-shirt damp and sticking to his skin. He’s out of breath like he hadn’t been in a long time, and he’s pretty sure he’s overheating but his blood is _thrumming_ with excitement and even when his lungs are screaming at him and his knees feel like they’re about to give Furihata still wants to play.

 

“O-one more round!”

 

“Are you sure?” Akashi, for his part, is only panting just lightly, an attractive sheen of sweat on his skin. “Do you want to have a break first?”

 

“One more, then rest.”

 

Furihata finds himself grinning uncontrollably. It doesn’t even matter that he’s losing by a mile. It’s been far too long since Furihata had felt this _alive_.

 

But there is a limit to his body; especially when Furihata’s too busy watching Akashi and not really concentrating on what he’s doing. That’s when Furihata trips – over a pebble, his shoelaces, his own leg, _something_ – and Akashi, going in for a drive and unsuspecting of this unintended, non-ankle-break fall, collides fully into him.

 

“Uwah-!”

 

They crash into the ground, Furihata landing on his back followed closely by Akashi falling right on top of him.

 

“Whoa- A-Akashi-kun, are you okay?” Furihata pushes up on his elbows to peer at the younger.

 

Akashi’s face is completely blank, apart from his eyes that are slightly widened.

 

“Akashi-kun…?” _Oh god, what have I done?_ Furihata panics. _He’s not even blinking! Oh crap, crap, crap, is he in shock or something? Or- or a concussion? Fuck, I broke Akashi Seijuuro, what do I dooo--_

“I’m—fine.” Akashi speaks, finally.

 

“Oh thank goodness,” Furihata lets out a massive sigh of relief, “You scared me there.”

 

“I was just-” Akashi begins, pushing himself up onto his palms and turning his head to look around himself with an almost bewildered expression. “-intrigued.”

 

“I-intrigued?” That’s new. Definitely not a reaction Furihata would personally have in this situation. “Why?”

 

“I think,” Akashi blinks, perplexed, “…I forgot what it felt like to fall over.”

 

Furihata stares at him. Akashi stares back.

 

“Pfft-”

 

Then Furihata bursts out laughing, because that is exactly something that Akashi and _only_ _Akashi_ would say. And it’s so _cute_ that someone so emperor-like can be so baffled by something like this that it’s funny. Not to mention, the look on Akashi’s _face—_

Furihata pauses then, and almost chokes on his laugh because _Akashi is laughing too._ Not just a scoff or a chuckle, either, but properly laughing; light and open, his red eyes curved into two semilunar slits.

 

And, god, if it isn’t the most beautiful thing Furihata has ever seen.

 

They dissolve in a fit of giggles together, all the while Furihata’s heart pounds out of his chest. He tries to convince himself that it’s from the adrenaline of the game, but one look at Akashi’s face and he knows he cannot deny the rush of pure affection he feels for this boy. And there it is, that ache. A familiar one, now, and Furihata doesn’t have a clue how to make it go away. Isn’t even sure if he wants it to.

 

Their laughter dies down and all of a sudden it becomes very apparent to Furihata that Akashi is practically _lying on top of him_ ; their legs entangled; their faces barely inches apart.

 

Akashi seems to have realized this as well, for his expression has become serious as he locks eyes with Furihata.

 

_‘_ _–You will be mine, Kouki.’_

 

The words ring in his head, and Furihata suddenly finds it difficult to breathe. Memories from yesterday’s kiss are still too vivid in his mind; the taste of Akashi’s lips still lingering on the tip of his tongue.

 

Akashi moves closer, and Furihata twitches, his pulse quickening.

 

“You look like you want to run from me,” Akashi murmurs, “And yet you don’t look away from my eyes.”

 

_I can’t._ Furihata wants to say. Akashi’s eyes are like black holes to him – once he’s sucked in, there’s no escape, no coming back out.

 

Akashi’s face closes in even more, and Furihata’s breath hitches. His chest is tight with anticipation, his palms sweaty, his lips dry. Part-nervously and part-subconsciously, Furihata licks his lips to wet them.

 

Crimson eyes flicker down to his mouth in a split second, and when it flits back up to Furihata’s eyes, Akashi’s red orbs are dark with desire.

 

Furihata sucks in a breath, realizing his mistake. Because that flick of his tongue can be interpreted as nothing short of an _invitation_ , and Furihata is freaking out because this is so far from what he planned _not_ to do with Akashi, and he _knew_ coming out here with him today was a _bad idea_ , damn it.

He stammers, trying to explain himself, “Ano, j-just now, that wasn’t- I-”

“I know, Kouki.” Akashi gazes at him evenly. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

 

Furihata freezes, stunned.

 

And it isn’t quite _hurt_ that he feels but more like someone had punctured his heart and it’s deflating like a balloon. There’s relief in there somewhere, but it’s hard to notice when it’s swallowed up in all the other confusing, crushing emotions Furihata doesn’t want to acknowledge. Disappointment. Embarassment. _Rejection._

 

_I always knew he’s too good for me._

Yeah, that one definitely stings.

 

Akashi must have seen the look on his face because he gently amends, “It’s not because I don’t want to.”

 

Furihata blinks rapidly at him, emotions thrown right back on the rollercoaster once again.

 

“I promised I won’t touch Kouki until you agree to be mine, and I intend to keep to that promise. I’m only doing this for you, because you need me to. You’re persistent to your values, and I respect that. However, if it were up to me…” Akashi’s thumb trails along Furihata’s cheekbone, and he murmurs softly, “I’d kiss you all the time. Every single day.”

 

Furihata flushes all the way to his ears.

 

“I’m not very patient,” Akashi says, almost petulantly, before he pinches Furihata’s cheek, “So hurry up and become mine already, Kouki.”

 

_Shit, that’s cute. So cute. He’s- Sei-kun’s perfect._ Furihata thinks, heart swelling at the nostalgic feeling of Akashi’s finger pads at his cheeks.

 

Furihata is struck with an impulsive, intense, almost violent urge to ruffle Akashi’s hair and feel those soft strands of red through his fingers. He reaches out reflexively, before he catches himself and his hand abruptly freezes mid-air.

 

_What am I doing…?_ Furihata curls his hand back, hoping Akashi hasn’t noticed. But before he can fully retract his arm, Akashi grabs his wrist.

 

“You’re bleeding.” Akashi frowns.

 

“Eh?” Furihata blinks, peering down at his arm – and surely enough, his elbow is dripping with blood. “Ah! I must’ve scraped it when we fell over.”

 

Akashi looks very displeased, immediately getting up on his feet. “This is my responsibility.”

 

“I-it’s no big deal, really- wait, Akashi-kun, where are you going?”

 

“Wait here,” Akashi orders, then when Furihata tries to get up, he sharply commands, “No, don’t move. I will be back in a minute. Stay.”

 

“But it’s- just a scrape…?” Furihata says, but Akashi has already walked off, leaving Furihata sitting on the floor trying not to feel like a dog that’s just been told to ‘stay’ by its master. It probably says a lot about Furihata that he’s actually listened and is staying right where he’s told. But can anyone really blame him when Akashi’s using _that_ tone of voice?

 

In exactly one minute, Akashi returns, mobile phone in one hand. When he sees Furihata waiting for him in the exact same position he left him in, he raises an eyebrow, half surprised and half amused. “You really did ‘stay’, huh.”

 

Furihata’s cheeks grow hot, “Y-you were the one who told me to-!”

 

If Akashi weren’t so concerned about Furihata’s elbow he probably would have chuckled. For now, his lips only quirk as he extends his free hand to Furihata’s, “Alright. Let’s go, Kouki.”

 

Furihata takes his hand and gets up, “Um, where are we going?”

 

“To get your injury treated.” Akashi says, face serious.

 

_‘Injury’ he says. But it’s literally just a scrape?_ Furihata really doesn’t think this is that big of a deal, but Akashi seems to think so and Furihata doesn’t feel like he could argue with Akashi normally, let alone when he looks this determined. So he decides to say nothing about it, even as they leave the basketball court and are walking down the street.

 

They walk past two blocks before Furihata realizes, with a skip of his heartbeat, that Akashi is still holding his hand.

 

Furihata decides not to say anything about that, either.

 

 

…

 

 

Out of all the Generation of Miracles, Aomine Daiki is the one that Akashi finds most difficult to handle. He’s the ace as much as he is the Problem Child; definitely not Akashi’s first choice to go to in Tokyo when there are plenty others he could visit – like Midorima, or Kuroko, or Momoi. It just so happens that Aomine conveniently lives the closest to the basketball court Akashi took Furihata to, and Akashi doesn’t want to waste a single minute where Furihata’s concerned.

 

It makes so much sense, really, because _of course_ Aomine grew up next to a street basketball court.

 

Helpful, when Akashi wants access to a first aid kit as soon as possible. Less helpful, however, is the way Aomine keeps staring at Furihata and ogling him up and down until the poor man is positively stuttering and stammering over every other word. Evidently, Furihata doesn’t deal well with intimidating people who stare. Akashi finds it adorable, but only strictly limited to when it’s _Akashi_ who’s making him squirm. Does that make him a sadist? Maybe a little.

 

“ _Dude._ ” Aomine says to Akashi, eyes wide, when Furihata excuses himself to the bathroom to wash the dirt off his arms.

 

“Yes, Daiki?” Akashi almost sighs.

 

“ _This_ guy?” Aomine looks flabbergasted, “When Takao said you’re hitting on someone, I thought-” Honestly, Aomine’s first thought when he heard was ‘ _holy shit, I feel sorry for the poor thing’_ but he omits that part, “-I didn’t think it’d be- well, a _guy_ for one. Man, since when did you even swing that way?”

 

“For as long as you and Ryouta have been romping like rabbits, probably.” Akashi says, calmly taking a sip of tea. He’s managed to learn more than a few things from his recent conversations with Takao Kazunari – because, wow, Shintarou’s boyfriend sure can _talk_ – this little piece of golden information included.

 

_The boobs-obsessed Aomine Daiki. Who would’ve thought?_

 

The way Aomine’s jaw drops is very satisfying.

 

“What the fuck- I’m not- Kise isn’t-”

 

“Oi, Aominecchi! You’ve run out of conditioner again, I _told_ you it was running out last time, you know I don’t like to wash my hair without- ooh, hello Akashicchi! What are you doing here?” Almost on queue, Kise Ryouta in the flesh appears around the corridor wearing nothing but a dark blue towel tied loosely around his waist, hair still damp and body still shining with water droplets, looking like he just stepped straight out of a magazine shoot.

 

The multiple deep bruises that peppered his neck and chest don’t escape Akashi’s notice, either.

 

“Hello, Ryouta,” Akashi side-glances at Aomine with one eyebrow raised, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

 

Aomine groans, burying his face in his hands. “God damn it, Kisee.”

 

“Huh? What did I do?” Kise tilts his head innocently. Unfortunately, the motion only serves to reveal more purple blotches and bite marks on the nape of his pale skin.

 

Akashi raises another eyebrow at Aomine.

 

“Fuck- just-” Aomine throws a pillow at Kise, “Put some fucking clothes on.”

 

What is it with blondes and being naked in inappropriate places? Kagami’s American mentor is one, and now Kise. Even if they’re both smoking hot and have bodies that Aomine would be more than happy to have his hands and teeth all over, this is Japan, and the point still stands.

 

Kise catches the pillow with ease, stretching his long arms and humming uncaringly, “Aominecchi’s so grumpy today, hm?”

 

Aomine is going to strangle him. Later. Possibly whilst pounding him vigorously into the bed and leaving a much larger bruise on that pale neck.

 

At this point, Furihata returns to the living room, “Um, sorry to be a bother, but I can’t seem to find any-” He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of half-naked Kise standing in the doorway in all his sparkly supermodel glory. Furihata swallows, “-t-towels.”

 

_Holy cow, it’s Kise Ryouta._

 

One does not go through life having an interest in _both_ men and basketball without having at least a vague idea who Kise Ryouta is.

 

Kise, noticing the newcomer’s star struck expression, smoothly slips into top-model mode and leans against the doorframe with his perfectly toned arm. He smiles, eyelashes fluttering, pheromones practically oozing out of his (hardly visible) pores, “Oh, hello there. I’m Kise Ryouta. You must be here with Akashicchi?”

 

Furihata is too stunned to even respond.

 

Aomine appears behind Kise to give him a whack to the back of his head just as Akashi strides over to retrieve the currently malfunctioning Furihata.

 

“Stop posing, we all know you’re hot already,” Aomine scowls, scuffing the top of Kise’s head again for good measure.

 

“Oww,” Kise pouts, “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Aominecchi, I’m totally not posing.”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

“Kouki, how is your elbow?” Akashi has better things to be concerned about than his overbearing ex-teammates.

 

“Ah-” Furihata shakes out of his stupor when Akashi touches his side, “It’s fine, really. It’s not deep or anything.”

 

He lifts his arm to show Akashi, who inspects it closely. True, the cut isn’t deep, but the scrape stretches long from Furihata’s olecranon until halfway to his wrist. Akashi nods, “We don’t have to bandage it, but I’d like to disinfect it.”

 

“Okay,” Furihata agrees easily.

 

That- surprises Akashi. Considering how stubborn Furihata has been about everything else, he’d expected a fight on this too. Having Furihata compliant and docile and willing – like when he curiously let Akashi hold his hand all the way to Aomine’s apartment – is… nice. It pleases Akashi more than he thought it would, and his hands curl and uncurl at his sides, wanting to pull Furihata close and bury his nose into that nest of soft brown hair.

 

“Akashicchi, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Kise says, hand swatting away Aomine who is poking childishly at his bruises. Aomine tries to bite at Kise’s fingers instead, to which Kise gives his shoulder a slap. “Oi. No biting.”

 

“Not until you get properly dressed and are in an acceptably presentable state, Ryouta,” Akashi chides, then turns on Aomine, “And you, Daiki, are being inappropriate. Restrain yourself while you have guests, at the very least.”

 

Aomine rolls his eyes, “Whatever, Mom.”

 

Akashi narrows his gaze.

 

“Ahh, suddenly it’s freezing out here! Come on, Aominecchi, find me some clothes I can borrow,” Kise quickly swings his arm around Aomine to usher him out of the room before Akashi can murder him with his eyes.

 

“Hah? But you know where all my stuff-”

 

“Shh! Aominecchi!” Kise hisses, elbowing his side. Gosh, Aomine is dumb sometimes.

 

The two disappear up the stairs, but their noises can still be heard – thrashing and thumping and Kise squealing as Aomine presumably snatches his towel away from him, leaving him butt-naked. More thudding of heavy footsteps follows; Aomine’s raucous laughter and Kise’s infectious giggling ringing in the air. Furihata can’t help but snicker – Kise and Aomine may look like they can pass for being the same age as Furihata but they’re definitely still young at heart.

 

Akashi sighs, shaking his head as they move to the sofa, “I apologize on behalf of my ex-teammates.”

 

“Oh, not at all,” Furihata smiles, an amused twinkle in his brown eyes, “They call you mom?”

 

“Apparently Daiki thinks I am overbearing and ‘naggy’ when I instruct him to do things,” Akashi resignedly explains as he opens the first aid kit, “All for his own benefit, I might add. My whole team should be grateful. Give me your hand.”

 

“That’s kind of cute,” Furihata says as he places his hand on Akashi’s palm – and is embarrassed when he realizes, once again, how dog-like that action is. He clears his throat, trying to cover up, “Is- was there a team ‘dad’?”

 

At this, Akashi’s lips quirk. “Shintarou.”

 

“Hehhhh. That’s- well, it makes sense, but I think Midorima-kun seems even more like a ‘mothering’ type than Akashi-kun, though. Hmm,” Furihata considers this seriously. “Maybe it’s a height thing? Because Midorima-kun is a lot tal-- ow, ow, ow-! A-Akashi-kun that _stings_!”

 

Furihata yelps and jumps when Akashi suddenly dabs a swab of alcohol mercilessly over his elbow.

 

“Hold still, Kouki,” Akashi scolds.

 

Furihata is pretty sure Akashi isn’t pouting – because that’s ridiculous, of course Akashi doesn’t _pout_ – but there’s no better term to describe the grumpy look on the younger’s face. It may have been funnier if Akashi isn’t drowning his wounds in concentrated alcohol that burns like acid.

 

“ _Ow-_ ” Furihata whines, hissing when Akashi moves the cotton swab over a flap of skin. “C-can we stop now?”

 

“Not yet. I want to make sure there aren’t any contaminants left in there.”

 

“But it looks clean…”

 

“I’m positive you’re aware that microorganisms can’t be seen with the naked eye, so no, ‘looking clean’ isn’t satisfactory. I’m taking all precautions.”

 

“But-” Furihata jolts again when the alcohol seeps into the deepest part of the scrape. “-!” Unintentionally, tiny drops of tears form at the corner of his eyes, “—Akashi-kun, it _hurts_.”

 

Akashi pauses at Furihata’s small voice. His red orbs finally look up from Furihata’s elbow to his face, and at the sight of Furihata’s glistening tears, Akashi stills his hand.

 

“Akashi-kun...?” Furihata peers up at him with big, round brown eyes.

 

_Like a puppy. He’s just like a puppy._

 

Akashi sighs heavily, putting down the cotton pad, “You don’t play fair, Kouki.”

 

“H-huh?”

 

Akashi promptly stands up and shuts away the first aid kit, all the while very deliberately not looking at Furihata. Because he can’t look at Furihata when Furihata’s looking at him like _that_. Like he’s _pleading_ him, and Akashi cannot handle it.

 

It’s strange. Furihata, no matter which way you look at him, is _plain_. There is nothing that is remarkable about him – no extraordinary features, average from height to weight, from head to toe. He’s actually a little on the scrawny side, except for a slight hint of muscles from the occasional basketball game here and there. The only thing that sets him apart from the common Japanese man is his hair and eyes that are naturally light-set to the colour of heavily creamed lattes. But even then, his irises are too small, making his eyes look wider apart than they actually are.

 

And yet, Akashi Seijuuro – Prince of Rakuzan, Emperor of the court, sole heir to the Akashi clan – struggles to look into those wild eyes and not want to grab Furihata by the collar and kiss the life out of him; to hold him so close against his chest that he’s almost folded into him; to worship Furihata until he can do nothing else but moan Akashi’s name.

 

_‘Sei-kun…’_

Akashi grits his teeth, pinching between his eyebrows and closing his eyes to will the image of a flushed and panting and _messy_ Furihata beneath him away.

 

Furihata stands, reaching out to him, “Akashi-kun, are you-”

 

“ _Don’t._ ” Akashi snaps, the word coming out sharper than he intended. He immediately regrets it when Furihata jerks away from him, hand shrinking as though burned.

 

“I- I’m sorry,” Furihata isn’t even looking at him, eyes downcast to the floor, hands tucked close to his side.

 

_Damn it._ Akashi cards his fingers through his own hair. He takes a step towards Furihata, “Kouki, that wasn’t-”

 

“Akashicchi, I’m dooone! Now can you introduce me to your- oh.” Kise, who has been bounding enthusiastically down the stairs, stops in his tracks mid-skip when he notices the tension in the room. “Er… should I come back later?”

 

“Yes, Ryouta,” Akashi speaks through his teeth.

 

The rate at which Kise backs away is quite impressive, “Oookay, I’ll just get back to Aominecchi and let him know-”

 

“A-ano!” Furihata suddenly speaks up, catching both of their attentions. “T-that’s- Kise-kun, it’s alright. You don’t have to go. I was just about to leave anyways.”

 

Akashi frowns.

 

“Uhh, are you sure?” Kise cautiously glances at Akashi. “You’re totally welcome to stay. I mean, it’s Aominecchi’s place, but I’m sure he doesn’t mind.” _Akashicchi’s way too scary for him to say anything about it, either way._

 

“Yes, I’m sure, t-thank you. And please tell Aomine-kun I said thank you as well,” Furihata is already putting on his shoes.

 

Akashi is next to him in a second. His voice is low when he speaks, “You’re leaving?”

 

“Ah, y-yes. It’s- getting late, and tomorrow’s school day and I need to get up early, and- and there’s a new topic coming up so I should go prepare for the lesson, so, um…” Furihata doesn’t know why he’s making so many excuses. He focuses instead on tying his shoelaces, finding them easier to think about than Akashi’s shadow looming over him.

 

“I’m coming with you.” Akashi decides, slipping on his shoes as well.

 

“E-eh?” Furihata gulps, still not looking up to face Akashi, “But- your friends-”

 

“Daiki and Ryouta will be just fine. I’ll walk you home.”

 

“But, um, that’s really not necessary-”

 

“Kouki,” Akashi brushes the back of his hand against Furihata’s, “I want to walk you home.”

 

Furihata rolls in his lips.

 

It would be better if he says no. Furihata knows this. The more time he spends with Akashi, the deeper he plunges, and the harder it is to turn back. Furihata knows he shouldn’t have even come out with Akashi in the first place, knows how hard and fast he’s falling, knows how dangerous it is the way his eyes already follow Akashi across the room. He _knows._ Which is why he shouldn’t, definitely, unquestionably should _not-_

 

Akashi’s thumb brushes along the inner indent of Furihata’s palm, his voice a gentle whisper, “If you’ll allow me.”

 

“…o-okay.”

_Weak! Too weak!_

 

Furihata is an idiot; with little to no self-control when it comes to Akashi, apparently.

 

 

….

 

 

“Did you see that, Aominecchi?”

 

As soon as the door shuts, Kise turns to Aomine who may or may not have been spying on Akashi and Furihata behind the stairs the whole time. Kise points at the front door with wide-blown golden eyes, “Oh my god, Aominecchi, did you _see_?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” Aomine yawns, coming up to Kise to loop an arm around his waist. “Man, Akashi’s so _whipped._ The guy’s so normal-looking, too. Weird.”

 

“Rude, Aominecchi. Also, isn’t it the other way around?” Kise tilts his head, giggling when Aomine nuzzles his face into the hollow of his collarbone. “That tickles.”

 

Aomine smirks and pinches Kise’s thigh, “How is it the other way ‘round? Didn’t you see the way Akashi asked him for permission? Freaking _Akashi_. Asking for _permission_ to walk some dumb guy home. Psh, come on.”

 

Kise playfully smacks his hand away, “But sensei-guy literally gave in like _that_ – snap! – when Akashicchi barely touched him, no? Seems like he’d do anything for Akashicchi, from what I’ve seen.”

 

“He’s not gonna be sticking it in Akashi, that’s for sure,” Aomine snorts. “Hey, how long do you think it’ll take until they fuck?”

 

“Aominecchi!” Kise gasps, scandalized.

 

“Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it,” Aomine shrugs.

 

“Hmph,” It might be _true_ but it’s not like Kise’s going to admit it. Keeping up appearances and all. “Didn’t Midorimacchi say Akashicchi’s gonna hold back until sensei-san gives him the ‘okay’ though? Like, no kissing or anything.”

 

“What- really?” Aomine raises his brows, “Fuck, that’s rough. That’s- what the hell, I never thought I’d say this, but, damn, I feel sorry for Akashi.”

 

Kise teasingly pokes Aomine in the abs. “Of course _you’d_ say that.”

 

Aomine only grins, catching his hand, “As if you don’t love it.”

 

Kise rolls his eyes, “Whatever makes you sleep at night, Aominecchi.”

 

It might be _true_ but it’s not like Kise’s going to admit it. Keeping up appearances and all.

 

 

….

 

 

Akashi hasn’t said a word since they left Aomine’s apartment.

 

Which would normally be fine; Furihata usually even likes how they can settle in silences together without feeling the awkward need to strike conversation. _Comfortable_ silences are good – great, actually, and rare to find with people, too. But this – this silence where Akashi is right next to him, walking right in step with him, but doesn’t even look once in his direction – this silence is haunting.

 

Furihata doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong. He must’ve done _something_. Knowing him, the possibilities for error are endless. Did he do something that could’ve offended Akashi? Or, even worse, upset him? Or maybe Akashi has finally figured it out that this isn’t worth it after all; that Furihata isn’t worth the time or the effort and that there are so many more obviously better choices out there for him to choose from so why should he even bother with Furihata who’s so- so _Furihata._

Clumsy. Inelegant. Ordinary at best, and rather dull, if he’s to be completely honest with himself. It doesn’t make sense- has never made sense to Furihata why Akashi would be even the slightest bit interested in him.

 

Just when Furihata is sinking deep into his own self-deprecation, Akashi stops walking.

 

“Oh-” Furihata is so lost in thought it actually takes him seven steps before he notices the absence of Akashi beside him. He turns, “Akashi-kun…?”

“Are you angry at me, Kouki?” Akashi says seriously, staring at him with incredibly intense eyes.

 

“H-huh??” Furihata points at himself and almost squeaks, “ _Me_?”

 

Akashi only stares at him, searching his face.

 

“But-” _But I thought you were the one who’s mad._ Furihata looks at a loss, “Why would I- what makes you think that?”

 

“You haven’t said a word to me since we started walking.”

 

“Eh?” That’s _it_? That’s all it is? Did he psyche himself out for nothing? “Akashi-kun hasn’t said anything either, though.”

 

“And just now you were in such a hurry to leave,” - _me_. The words ‘leave me’ hang on Akashi’s lips but he shuts it down; there’s a wound that’s never healed properly.

 

“T-That’s because I was imposing on your friends and I don’t even know them.”

 

“But I-” Akashi frowns, red eyebrows knotting just like he used to do as a child, “I scraped your arm.”

 

“I tripped! That’s my own fault – happens too often, really,” Furihata shakes his head, “Actually, I’m the one who made _you_ fall over, Akashi-kun. And you- well, I’m assuming you _never_ do that.”

 

“No, I don’t.” Akashi agrees, and then remembers, “Not ever since the last time you picked me up when I scratched my knee.”

 

“I picked- huh? But that was like- you were like three!” Furihata gawks.

 

“Seven, actually.”

 

“I know! I was just, um, hyperbolizing,” Wow, that is definitely not a word that has been in Furihata’s dictionary until Akashi and his extensive vocabulary has been reintroduced into his life.

 

Akashi nods, “That was the first time you picked me up.”

 

“You didn’t like being picked up,” Furihata has to smile, remembering how Akashi had squawked like a little parrot – indignant and embarrassed and so very very adorable.

 

“Not when I haven’t consented to it. I was perfectly fine when you carried me back from the fireworks festival.”

 

“But that time you were asleep.”

 

“Ah,” Akashi’s lips curl. “Was I now?”

 

“You were- wait, what- are you saying you weren’t?” Furihata turns to look at him, and the sly smirk on Akashi’s face gives it all away. “You’re telling me you were awake the whole time and yet you still made me carry you all the way home?”

 

“I was sleepy,” Akashi says, nonchalantly.

 

Furihata feels a weird delayed sense of being cheated, “It’s more like Akashi-kun just likes being able to trick me.”

 

Akashi tuts, “What a terrible thing to accuse a child of.”

 

“Oh no, Akashi-kun, you don’t get to play that card,” Furihata huffs, “You were like eight then, too! You were quite heavy, you know!”

 

“How rude, Kouki.” Akashi says, but he is smiling.

 

“Not as rude as tricking someone into carrying you all the way home!” Furihata almost-yells. He’s not angry, though – more amused, really, that it’s only now, ten years later that he’s finding out about yet another of little Akashi’s machinations.

 

Akashi turns to him with raised brows, “If you wish I can carry you home right now to make it up to you.”

 

“How is that- I don’t want- it doesn’t work that way!” Furihata is laughing now.

 

Akashi looks at him fondly. Before he realizes it, he’s reaching out to Furihata, to touch those soft cheeks he remembers so well-

 

“Ah, my place is just around this-” Furihata turns just in time to see Akashi’s hand, suspended in mid-air. He swallows, words dying in his throat.

 

Akashi curls his fingers, changing to pointing at the direction they’re heading instead, “Around this corner?”

 

“Y-yeah,” Furihata’s voice is only slightly shaky.

 

They reach Furihata’s apartment then, and Akashi walks Furihata right to the front door.

 

“Ano- thank you for walking me home, Akashi-kun,” Furihata dips into a tiny bow, “You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“I wanted to,” Akashi says, before adding in a quieter voice, “I thought I had angered you or upset you when you said you were leaving and I- really dislike feeling that way.”

 

“I-” Furihata swallows, “Well, I wasn’t angry or anything, so it’s all good.”

 

Akashi smirks, “Even though I did fool you into carrying me all those years ago?”

 

Furihata chuckles, shaking his head. In moments like these, Akashi reminds him exactly why Furihata was so taken by the little redheaded child with those too-big red eyes in the first place. Akashi is _charming_. Just being with him makes Furihata’s chest feel warm and fluffy inside. In a sudden rush of pure honesty, Furihata murmurs, “I’m never angry with you, Akashi-kun. I don’t think I can be.”

 

Akashi stares at him.

 

_Oh, no. That’s too much. I’ve said too much…_ Furihata bites his lower lip.

 

Akashi’s eyes are soft; his pupils dilated. As though mesmerized, his hand reaches out towards Furihata once more—

 

Furihata subconsciously holds his breath.

 

\--but, once again, Akashi stops right before his fingers could make contact with Furihata’s skin, hand retracting back reluctantly.

 

A gush of wind blows past them and Furihata shivers, unsure whether it’s more of an external or internal chill that he feels.

 

“You should go inside,” Akashi says, voice tight.

 

“R-right,” Furihata fumbles with the keys for a second before he manages to open the door. He swings it half-open, before he turns back to look at Akashi, hand still on the doorknob. “How- how are you getting home?”

 

“I’m returning to Rakuzan for the week so my driver will take me to the train station,” Akashi is looking at him very intently.

 

“Rakuzan… that’s Kyoto isn’t it?” Furihata already knows Rakuzan is in Kyoto, so he doesn’t know why he’s asking Akashi, but he just- doesn’t want to go inside. Not just yet.

 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Akashi says, red orbs still on Furihata almost unblinkingly.

 

They linger like that, Furihata hanging on his half-open door and Akashi not leaving him either, all the while unable to look away from each other’s eyes. Lingering, lingering.

 

Something feels like it’s about to break, but neither of them are moving.

 

_It would be so easy to invite him in._ Furihata thinks, hand tightening on the doorknob. _Even easier to pull him in for a kiss._

He stomps those thoughts down fast, sealing them away in the back of his mind. Furihata clears his throat, “P-Please travel back safely, Akashi-kun.”

 

Akashi nods stiffly, “I’ll call you, Kouki.”

 

_Please do. I’d like that. Very much._ Furihata only nods back quickly, not trusting himself to speak. He waves weakly at Akashi, then, and it is with great effort that he finally turns away, steps inside his flat, and shuts the door behind him.

 

As soon as the door’s lock clicks into place, Furihata immediately sinks to the floor.

 

_That was- close._

He exhales heavily, hugging his knees close to his chest, his fingers twitching in yearning, his burning face buried in-between his knees, feeling breathless and hollow and achingly hard for Akashi’s touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating just got bumped up to M, but don’t get too excited guys, the slow burn continues – even though it is burning a teeny bit faster now (the M rating is more because of the AoKi than the AkaFuri at this point, woops. I blame Aomine entirely).
> 
> As always, thank you for all the support for this fic! Do let me know your thoughts about this chapter – all your comments make my day :D I know some of you were worried I was gonna drop this fic but rest assured I will write this until the end. My average update rate is from 1-to-3-months-ish which I know is painfully slow, but I want to produce the best work possible, so please bear with me. xx


	12. Too Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which this is definitely not a cinema date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my LOVELY friend commissioned some art from catnappe143 for this fic for my birthday eeeekkk :D it's so cute! http://cy-no-su-re.tumblr.com/post/144111009162/precious-akafuri-art-my-darling-friend
> 
> If you guys ever draw any art for this fic please let me know - I want to see everything! :)
> 
> ps. my tumblr is a closet fujoshi hence the lack of anime reblogs ^^''

Akashi has been coming to see him every weekend.

 

Including the basketball one-on-one weekend, this makes it the fourth time this month, and Furihata doesn’t know whether he should put a stop to these weekly visits.

 

Because, truthfully, he doesn’t want to. Furihata has never disliked spending time with Akashi; eight or eighteen years old, it doesn’t matter. Akashi is clever and charming and _funny_ – true, he can’t make jokes, but it doesn’t mean he’s incapable of humor, Furihata isn’t sure why most people can’t see that – and he has the most interesting outlooks on the world and Furihata just _adores_ spending time with him. He can listen to Akashi talk all day, honestly, but it isn’t just that – it’s also the way Akashi would, in turn, listen to Furihata talk and actually try to understand his perspective thoroughly – razor-sharp focus narrowing in on him like he’s the only thing that mattered in the world at that point. And it’s almost a strange, giddy feeling, for someone like Furihata who is so used to being dismissed as uninteresting and unremarkable to hold the attention of someone so thoroughly outstanding like Akashi.

 

Akashi makes Furihata feel _seen_.

 

Plus, it’s not like there is anything wrong with these ‘visits’. (Because it’s definitely normal for two guys to go to places like the aquarium together. Or the cinema. Or take midnight walks to see the city lights.) Akashi has been impeccably well-behaved and has kept to every word of his promise. They don’t touch beyond what would be considered appropriate between teacher and student, and Akashi’s been so true to his word that it’s gotten to the point where Furihata is no longer cautious of being in close proximity with him.

 

But that’s where the problem comes in – because, god help him, Furihata now kind of _wants_ Akashi to break the rules.

 

Not much; just a little hand brush here and there, or things like leaning his head on his shoulders, or a pinch on his cheeks. But Akashi’s been completely strict with himself since their basketball date, without even a _hint_ of an initimate touch. And Furihata knows it’s selfish, so _so_ selfish of him but he just- wants.

 

Wants Akashi to want him even though he’s not going to give in – and Furihata hates himself for it.

 

_This is what you wanted. This is as good as it’s going to be, if we’re going to keep seeing each other. This is more than good as it is._ But even telling himself that, a small, greedy voice is protesting in the back of Furihata’s mind that it’s _not_ _enough_.

 

“Kouki, are you sleeping?” Akashi whispers, nudging his hand.

 

They were sitting at the very back row of the cinema – Director’s hall, of course, this is _Akashi_ he’s hanging out with – and it is dark enough that Furihata can only see the half of Akashi’s face illuminated by the screen.

 

“Eh? Ah- no, Akashi-kun.”

 

Akashi looks unconvinced. “We can leave if you find this movie boring.”

 

“Oh, n-not at all, I was just- um-” Furihata shrugs, “Thinking.”

 

“About?”

 

_You._ “N-nothing in particular.”

 

“You were thinking about ‘nothing’?” Akashi tilts his head, “How?”

 

On most occasions, Furihata enjoys how Akashi is curious about even the littlest things no one else is concerned about. This, however, is not one of those occasions.

 

“Eh- i-it doesn’t really matter,” Furihata whispers, aware of a couple sitting in the seat next to them starting to give them looks.

 

“Of course it does.”

 

“Ano- we’re disturbing other people in the cinema, Akashi-kun.”

 

Akashi blinks at him as though to say: _and? Why should I care what they think? I care what you think._

 

Furihata sighs, “I’ll tell you after the movie, okay?”

 

Seemingly satisfied by that, Akashi leans back in his seat once again.

 

The movie is a period movie about war, strength, and love, and it was beautiful and artistic – so when the main protagonist of the movie suddenly strips down and starts making passionate love to the heroine, Furihata is more than a little startled.

 

The worst part is that the scene is actually well done, too. Low lights and sensual music, filmed at angles and zoom-ins that make the whole scene enticingly erotic. And to make matters worse, the scene is _long;_ stretched out moans and gasps of the heroine echoing throughout the hall.

 

Furihata finds himself shifting in his seat, suddenly feeling all too warm and far too aware of the fact that Akashi is sitting right next to him. And before he can stop himself, Furihata’s mind has already wandered off to thinking about what it would be like if it is _Akashi_ who is kissing him, Akashi pushing him down on the bed and biting the curve of his neck, Akashi’s hands running up and down his body and grabbing him, their bodies pressed close, moving together, those lips whispering hot breaths into his ear and making him gasp and tremble and _beg_ —

Furihata swallows thickly _._

 

_I need to cool down._

“Ah-!” Furihata audibly gasps when he reaches for his water and, in the darkness, accidentally grabs Akashi’s hand on the armrest instead. The jolt of heat that shoots through him at the contact almost takes his breath away.

 

_Shit-!_ Furihata lets go immediately, biting his bottom lip in panic.

 

Akashi is staring at him.

“S-sorry,” Furihata quickly mumbles, voice hushed, “I- I was- I didn’t mean-”

 

Akashi says nothing, and it makes Furihata all the more flustered.

 

“Um-! I- I was just- t-trying to- to-” Furihata’s hands are shaking, and he’s struggling to whisper without his lips trembling. “Uh-”

 

They haven’t touched hands in _weeks_. No hand squeezes, not even accidental brushes. Is that why Furihata’s palm feels like it’s on fire? And not just his hand, but his face, and his lungs, too, feel like they’re burning up with every pulse and every stuttered breath.

 

And Furihata may be a grown man of twenty-eight-years old but Akashi Seijuuro has the ability to reduce him to a blushing virgin teenager.

 

“It’s alright, Kouki,” Akashi finally speaks, his voice a low murmur, “Here.” He passes Furihata the water.

 

“T-Thank you, Akashi-kun,” He shakily accepts, before looking up to see Akashi getting out of his seat. “Eh-? W-where are you going?”

 

“I’ll meet you outside.” Akashi simply says, not looking at him.

 

“Huh? But- the movie hasn’t-”

 

“Kouki,” Akashi says, and this time, both red eyes are directly on Furihata. “There is a limit to my self-control.”

 

Furihata gulps.

 

When Akashi leaves after that, Furihata doesn’t say a word.

 

The sex scene in the movie has ended some time ago, but Furihata still feels the heat in his veins – running even hotter now that he cannot stop thinking about what Akashi would do if he breaches that ‘limit’.

 

 

…

 

 

That was… close.

 

Akashi has been _good._ In fact, he deserves an award for how good he has behaved these past few weeks. He’s been the perfect gentleman, minding his boundaries, keeping his hands to himself, even though every time he sees Furihata all he wants to do is grab him and show him just how much he wants him, how much Furihata’s been missing, how _good_ it could be between them – promises and chivalry be damned.

 

‘ _When you’re always touching them and then, suddenly, you stop, it makes them feel kinda lonely. Then after a while, they’ll start wanting it. It builds up slowly – Shin-chan took freaking forever, ugh, rough times – but trust me, it does work. So you gotta be patient, ‘kay?’_

That’s what Takao Kazunari has said. And Akashi _has_ been patient. He has resisted every opportunity to ruffle Furihata’s hair, to brush hands with him, to reach out and cup those soft cheeks in his palms. It has been going so well, too; Akashi has noticed the way Furihata is now more comfortable in his space – even though it does make it harder having him so close yet not being able to touch.

 

But then Furihata just had to go and undo all of his hard work with that one grab of his hand.

 

It felt like _electricity_. The shock of it striking him like lightning and creaking open a dam of all the suppressed desires Akashi has been holding in.

 

Akashi didn’t think he’d be so weak, but when he saw Furihata sitting there stuttering and blushing with hands shaking like they want to touch him, Akashi knew he had to get away. Because Akashi wants him – has wanted him too much for too long – and he _can’t look at him_ when Furihata is looking back like he wants him too.

 

The things he would _do_ to that man… Akashi grinds his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists, steadying his breaths.

_‘You gotta be patient, ‘kay?’_

Easier said than done. Akashi has no idea how Takao managed this – knowing Midorima, Akashi suspects Takao must’ve gone through a mini-hell. Does everybody go through this? This difficult, torturous phase?

 

Akashi thinks about Aomine and Kise, the easy sexual chemistry that seems to flow like lava between them. It may be that way now, but Akashi remembers that Interhigh match from years ago – Kise collapsed on the floor, ankles trembling, eyes brimming with tears, and Aomine walking away from him without even a second glance. Akashi thinks of himself back in Teikou, and Nijimura there, with their never-discussed kisses that probably happened too often, and the way Nijimura’s eyes always looked at him like he wanted to say something but never did.

 

Then, of course, there was Rakuzan. And by Rakuzan, Akashi means-

 

“Eh? Sei-chan?”

 

A familiar voice calls him from behind, and Akashi turns around to see turquoise eyes that he never could quite figure out the shade; pretty long lashes that used to brush against his cheek; and cupid-bow lips that taught him the true definition of a ‘good kisser’.

 

“Reo.”

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata stays in the cinema for around 15 minutes more, before he becomes too fidgety and decides to leave. It’s not like he can concentrate on the movie when he knows Akashi is waiting for him outside, anyways.

 

He grabs his bag and steps out of the theatre, apologies ready on his lips for making Akashi wait out here all alone; but all words die in his throat when he sees Akashi.

 

Because Akashi isn’t alone.

 

Standing there was a tall man with chin-length hair, a lithe but athletic frame, and a gorgeous face that is both pretty and handsome at the same time. But what strikes Furihata the most is the fact that this man is _embracing_ Akashi – in a way that can only be described as intimate _;_ long fingers curled around Akashi’s shoulder and splayed over his neck, another arm wrapped around Akashi’s waist, and his face buried in the top of Akashi’s hair like he’s kissing Akashi’s forehead.

 

What’s even more shocking is that Akashi is _letting_ him embrace him. In fact, he even has one of his arms around the tall man himself.

 

“You should’ve told me you were in Tokyo,” His voice is sweet, elegant like everything else about him. “I missed you, you know.”

 

“I thought you would be busy with university work.”

 

“Please, I’m never too busy for you, Sei-chan.”

 

_‘Sei-chan.’_

Furihata stands there frozen, feeling like an intruder.

 

Almost like he has a sixth-sense, Akashi turns around to see him.

 

And Furihata doesn’t know what expression he expected to see, but Akashi _smiling_ was not one of them. It is one of those unguarded, easy smiles that Furihata likes best, too. And yet, Furihata finds himself strangely… irritated.

 

“Ah, Kouki,” Akashi has turned his whole body towards Furihata now, but the tall, pretty man is still hugging him from behind, long arms draping all over him like vines. “Has the movie ended?”

 

“Uh- n-no,” Furihata’s voice cracks a little and he clears his throat, “I- um- I came out to find you, Akashi-kun.”

 

Before Akashi can respond, the man pokes his chin over Akashi’s shoulder, his long dark hair falling over his collarbones, “Hm? Sei-chan, who’s this guy?”

 

Those turquoise eyes are looking at him up and down and even though his lips are smiling, Furihata feels slightly unnerved.

 

“Furihata Kouki. He took care of me when I was young,” Akashi introduces him, then turns to Furihata, “Kouki, this is Mibuchi Reo. He was previously a starting member of Rakuzan’s basketball team.”

 

_Starting member of Rakuzan_. That explains the height. And the way Reo holds himself like he knows he’s got an edge, like he’s a level above the rest – because he probably does. Is.

 

“Ehh? He got to see Sei-chan when you were small?!” Reo pouts, managing to look attractive whilst doing so, “Mou, I’m honestly so jealous right now, Furihata-san.”

 

_You? Jealous?_ Furihata can’t help but eye the way Reo’s hands are still all over Akashi. And Akashi doesn’t even seem to mind one bit. Like he’s completely used to having those long arms around his waist, those hands putting themselves in Akashi’s pockets like they belong there.

 

And before Furihata realizes it, he is clenching his own hands. Because right there is something that Furihata’s been deprived of for the past three weeks, and this guy just happens to waltz in, all pretty lashes and grace, and place his hands and arms all over Akashi like it’s _that easy_. Furihata almost wants to step up and tell Reo to _back off_ because it’s _him_ who Akashi wants, it’s _him_ who Akashi’s come to Tokyo to see, and it should be _him_ who gets to be all over Akashi because Akashi is _his-_

_-what?_ Furihata blinks, and then flinches at the ache in his chest that follows because he doesn’t _know._

_I don’t have any right to be- angry? Possessive? Jealous?_ What is the turmoil within him, exactly? But what Furihata knows for certain is that he dislikes the way Mibuchi Reo is touching Akashi, and dislikes the way it makes him feel so threatened he is almost shaking.

 

“I bet you were a nightmare to look after, Sei-chan,” Reo grins at Akashi, eyes teasing, “All this genius compressed into one little devil child.”

 

“Contrary, I was delightful.”

 

“ _Lies_!” Reo laughs.

 

“I only ever speak the truth, Reo.”

 

“Oh please, Sei-chan, you must’ve demanded tofu soup from all the servants all the time like a little emperor.”

 

“I don’t see why that’s a problem.”

 

“Pfft-” Reo giggles, “That’s just like you, Sei-chan. Were you an absolute terror with shogi even back then, too?”

 

_‘Sei-chan, Sei-chan.’_ Furihata feels choked. _He even knows about the tofu soup. And the shogi._

But of course he does. Why wouldn’t he? Akashi just told him that Reo used to be his teammate – Rakuzan is a boarding school, so it can be assumed that they must have lived in the dorms together at some point. It’s unreasonable to think that only Furihata would know about Akashi’s little quirks.

 

But that doesn’t stop him from _wanting_ to be the only one.

 

“I will say this again, I believe the shogi club was exaggerating when they stated that I ‘terrorized’ them,” Akashi reasons, “I merely played. And won.”

 

Reo shakes his head, smiling, “Sei-chan, you’re just bitter no one wants to play with you anymore because you always win.”

 

“Shintarou plays with me,” Akashi argues.

 

“That’s because Shuutoku-chan is at least smart enough to give you a challenge.”

 

“So are you,” Akashi says, “No one in Rakuzan right now is as good. It’s boring in the dorms.”

 

“My, my,” Reo’s lips curl, his eyes twinkling, “Is Sei-chan saying he misses me?”

 

Furihata feels hollow in his chest. With every reference he doesn’t understand, every flirtatious intonation in Reo’s words, it feels like Akashi is pulling further and further away from him even though he’s standing right here. Like there’s an invisible glass wall being drawn up between them, and Furihata can only watch from the other side, palms pressed against the glass, uninvited. It makes the hollow in his chest ache around the edges, like acidic wires eroding, tightening around his ribs and- and Furihata can’t _breathe_ -

 

Fortunately, a man steps in at that point to interrupt Akashi and Reo’s back and forth banter. “Oi, Reo. The movie’s about to start.”

 

If Furihata thought Reo was gorgeous before, then this new guy is downright _beautiful_.

 

Dark hair, pale skin, slim, with a beauty mark under his eye and sex appeal streaming out of him in subtle waves, cool and sensuous, like dry ice. He stops and raises his brow when he sees who Reo is with. “Akashi? What’re you doing in Tokyo?”

 

“Himuro Tatsuya,” Akashi acknowledges. “I’m here for the weekend.”

 

“And he didn’t even tell _me_ about it, Tatsu-chan.” Reo whines.

 

_That’s because he came to see me._ Furihata wants to say, to _yell,_ but that would just be childish. And petty. And it’s not like he has it in him to actually say it, anyways. Also, his dislike of Mibuchi Reo is completely unwarranted and Furihata knows this; but Reo is _still_ touching Akashi, and Furihata can’t help himself.

 

“I’m not sure why you think complaining to me about it will help?” Himuro side-eyes Reo.

 

“Well, you can call the very tall and purple Murasakibara-kun and tell him to tell Sei-chan that I am very, _very_ upset,” Reo says, casually flipping his hair and not at all looking the slightest bit upset.

_Really, if anyone is upset here it’s--_

 

“You’ll have to bribe Atsushi with candy if you want him to do anything,” Himuro says.

 

“Eh, well I can do that, too,” Reo shrugs.

 

“That seems a little extensive,” Akashi says.

 

“All the things I do for you, Sei-chan,” Reo winks.

 

Furihata wants to punch a wall.

 

Himuro glances at him for a moment, before turning back to Reo, “We should go in or we’ll miss the start of the movie.”

 

“Oh-! Right, it’s almost time,” Reo finally, _finally,_ lets go of Akashi – and Furihata lets go of a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding. “It’s been _so_ nice to see you, Sei-chan, really. You have to come to Tokyo more often and let me know when you come, okay?”

 

_Just **go** already. _ Furihata thinks darkly, and then blinks, startled at the unusual negativity in his thoughts.

 

“I will do.” Akashi nods.

 

“Promise?” Reo leans closer, lashes lowering flirtatiously.

 

Akashi sighs, but it is fond, “I promise, Reo.”

 

“Heh, alright, Sei-chan,” Reo grins, satisfied. Before he straightens up fully, he turns his head and pecks Akashi on the cheek quickly, making a small kissing ‘chu’ sound as he does.

 

_What-…!_

 

“See you later, Sei-chan~,” Reo waves as he walks off into the theatre with Himuro. His eyes flitted to meet Furihata’s briefly – an amused glint flashing in them, “And nice to meet you, too, Furihata-san~.”

 

If Furihata had been holding paper in his hands, he would’ve ripped it to shreds.

 

 

…

 

 

The walk to the train station isn’t silent, but it may as well have been. Akashi has noticed the tension since they left the cinema, and Furihata’s one-word replies since then only confirmed and made it the more obvious that something is off.

 

“Kouki,” Akashi calls out to Furihata, who is walking in front of him with his hands in his pockets, head down, eyes on the floor.

 

“Yes?” His mellow voice is unusually sharp.

 

“You don’t necessarily have to walk me to the station.”

 

Furihata halts, his head snapping around to look at Akashi. His caramel eyes are hard, “Why not?”

 

Akashi has never seen Furihata like this. Furihata is usually so gentle and mild and not at all snappy and irritable. And, honestly, Akashi doesn’t quite know how to handle, or how he feels about Furihata in this mode. “You don’t seem to want-”

 

“I do.” Furihata cuts him off before he can finish – that’s also new. And not in a pleasant way.

 

Akashi frowns, “Kouki-”

 

“Unless you have a problem with it?” Furihata levels his gaze at him, his tone neutral. And it isn’t impolite or even confronting – just a simple question. But the fact that it is _Furihata_ who is questioning him, unstutteringly, facing him dead-on like this-

 

Akashi can feel his prideful side bristling at the challenge – the ‘ _how dare you speak to me like that, know your place’_ brimming up under the surface – but Akashi presses it down like a forced lid over a steaming pot. He breathes, slow and steady, in and out, and levels his gaze back at Furihata. Calm. “I don’t have a problem with it. You, however-”

 

“What. I don’t-”

 

“ _Don’t lie to me_.” Akashi doesn’t mean for his voice to come out so harshly – dislikes the way it makes Furihata jolt bodily, like Akashi has physically struck him. But it’s difficult, when Akashi is so used to commanding, so accustomed to everyone bending to his will. And Furihata – Furihata is the most infuriating of them all, because not only is he being stupidly difficult with- with the entire situation, really. But Akashi also can’t whip him into submission like everyone else. He doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to force his hand. It has to be _Furihata_ who wants to, who decides to, that’s the whole _point._

 

Akashi isn’t used to not getting what he wants, and it’s been a _month._ ‘Frustrated’ is an understatement.

 

“I’m-” Fleetingly, Furihata’s eyes waver, and his frame twitches like it’s on the verge of crumbling, of giving into something internally. Then the moment passes, and Furihata stiffens once again. The curve of his spine is less severe this time, however. “I’m just- it’s- it’s nothing.”

 

“Evidently, it is not ‘nothing’,” Akashi snipes.

 

Furihata looks torn between snapping right back and curling backwards to cower in a corner. The voice that comes out is somewhere halfway. “What do you expect me to say, Akashi-kun?”

 

“You’re upset,” Akashi crosses his arms, “I want to know why.”

Furihata’s face scrunches up, his lips quavering like they’re about to spill out everything. But then Furihata takes a sharp inhale and grits his teeth, rolling in his lips as though physically sealing in his words. He averts his gaze, shakes his head like the matter’s not important, turning his body; hiding, evading from Akashi in every way.

 

Akashi absolutely hates it.

 

“What- Akashi-kun, where are you going?” Furihata asks when he looks up to see Akashi walking away from the direction of the train station.

 

Akashi doesn’t reply, just turns to look at Furihata once – those red eyes sharp – before continuing to walk in the same direction.

 

Furihata considers not following him. But just the brief thought of leaving it like this, of ending it here, on such a bitter note, and the way Akashi _looked_ at him just now – it makes Furihata feel like he’s been punched in the gut.

 

So Furihata clenches his fists and goes after him, trailing behind Akashi silently. Akashi doesn’t even turn to glance at him, but Furihata knows Akashi’s noticed him.

 

A block away from the station, they take a turn into a small, empty alleyway – all shops shut, still too early for the evening business hours. It’s eerily quiet, the sounds of dried leaves scattering in the wind louder than they should be. Here, Akashi finally stops and turns to face Furihata.

 

Three seconds of eye contact and Furihata turns away; evading, again. He mumbles, “Y-you’re going to miss your train, Akashi-kun.”

 

Akashi narrows his eyes, “Are you going to tell me why you’re upset? Or did you just follow me here to talk about trains.”

 

“I-” Furihata starts, then stops, and rolls in his lips. Still not meeting Akashi’s eyes.

 

Akashi clicks his tongue, irked. God, he _hates_ it when Furihata acts like this – like he’s afraid to move or breathe around Akashi; like he doesn’t trust or know Akashi at all. He huffs a sigh, a hint of annoyance.

 

Furihata panics and automatically stutters, “I- I’m sorry-”

“For what?” Akashi shoots back, red eyes still and scrutinizing.

 

Furihata opens his mouth like he’s going to reply then shuts it again once he thought better of it. Excuses don’t work with Akashi – never has. The pressure peaks under Akashi’s stare and Furihata feels himself bend and bend until, suddenly, he cracks and blurts out in one breath,

 

“ _I’m not good at shogi_.”

 

Akashi blinks, not expecting that line. “…shogi?”

 

“I- I’m no good at it. I can’t give Akashi-kun a challenge, and you probably found it really boring to play with me, e-even back when you were young. I mean, you won every game – not that that’s unexpected or anything – but it was probably far too easy, right?”

 

“Kouki, what-”

 

“A-and I’m not brilliant at basketball either – I play, but definitely not well enough to be on Rakuzan’s first team, I mean i-if I were the same age as Akashi-kun,” And wouldn’t that be nice if they actually are? The same age, that is. It’s not like Furihata hasn’t thought about this more than a few times (read: over a hundred times) over the past few weeks. He goes on, voice becoming weaker, “And I’m not- t-tall. Or handsome. And I don’t have long lashes that go all- all f-fluttery.”

 

Something clicks in Akashi’s mind then. “Kouki,” He blinks at him, “Are you talking about Reo?”

 

“Eh?! N-no, I’m just-” Furihata shakes his head quickly, rubbing one arm nervously with the opposite hand. For a moment he looks indecisive, holding back, before curiosity gets the better of him because he _just needs to know._ “What- what is your relationship with him?”

Akashi raises his eyebrows. “With Mibuchi Reo?”

 

“Y-yes,” Furihata nods, voice small and a little shaky. “Am I- am I allowed to ask?”

 

“Of course,” Akashi replies immediately. He steps closer, voice gentle, “You know you can always ask me anything, Kouki.”

 

_Can I really?_ Furihata thinks, looking at Akashi. It’s still strange that he has to look up at Akashi now instead of down, and where there used to be soft round cheeks there are now sharp, strong cheekbones. _There’s so much I don’t know about you. So much I didn’t realize I don’t know. Ten years is a long time and there is so much- distance. So much distance between us._

_It’s kind of… lonely._

“Reo was my lover.”

 

The words strike Furihata like a thunderclap. His mouth goes dry, his head is throbbing, his heart is pounding, his hands are numb, and he is staring at Akashi but all he can see is red, _red-_

Akashi frowns, considering, “Hm. But maybe ‘lover’ isn’t the most accurate term.”

 

Furihata stops breathing.

 

“We didn’t date. It wasn’t like he was my boyfriend. I suppose the best way to explain how he treats me is akin to how an older sister would treat a younger brother,” Akashi pauses, “If the sister has a very strong brother complex.”

 

“B-brother complex…” Furihata repeats quietly, skeptical. Akashi is many things, but one thing Furihata never expected is for Akashi to be on the receiving end of some sort of strange _brocon._ Thoughts of all the less-than-innocent content surrounding that tag swirls in his mind, and before he can stop himself, Furihata asks, “D-did you- um, I mean- did y-you and him- um-”

 

“Are you asking whether I slept with Reo?”

 

“Ah-” Furihata swallows, face burning. “I-It’s not my place-”

 

_What am I asking? This is none of my business, I don’t deserve to know any of this-_

 

“I didn’t,” Akashi says, and the relief hits Furihata so overpoweringly that he almost collapses to the ground. “We made out a lot. Slept in the same bed a lot. But no, we never actually _slept_ together.”

 

“I- I see,” Furihata’s voice sounds tight, even to himself. He’s relieved that Akashi didn’t have sex with Reo, but still, he’s- agitated. “And are you- you and him- are you still…?”

 

“No,” Akashi shakes his head. “We stopped when he went to Tokyo for university.”

 

_So would you have continued if he was still in Kyoto?_ Furihata thinks, not without resentment. The thought of Akashi with Reo, all long limbs and pale skin tangled up together, rolling in bed, fingers in Akashi’s hair, lips locked in a passionate kiss- it’s enough to make Furihata feel sick to his gut. Not from disgust, but… He grips his own arm hard, grits his teeth to stop himself from shaking.

 

“Kouki?” Akashi says, when he notices Furihata’s reaction. His eyes widen, red orbs staring in disbelief, “Is it possible that you’re… jealous?”

 

_Jealous? Of course I am. How can I not be? When you’re not even touching me and he’s- he’s…_

_…of course I’m fucking jealous._

Furihata clenches his jaw. _But it’s not fair, isn’t it? I can’t be jealous, not when I told you we can’t be anything more than this. It’s not fair when I’m the one who drew the line; when all this distance between us is my fault._

_When you’re not even mine, Akashi-kun._

“Kouki,” Akashi takes a step closer.

 

“Don’t-” Furihata takes one step back, eyes on the floor, his voice watery. “D-don’t come any closer than this.”

 

Akashi stops, and Furihata wants to scream because, once again, yet _again_ , _it’s me who’s putting a wedge between us when I want nothing more than to get closer._

 

“You sound afraid,” Akashi says, and his voice is strangely quiet. “I used to think it was because you’re unsure of what I’ll do. But now I’m wondering if it’s the opposite.”

 

Furihata shakes his head, “Akashi-kun-”

 

“Are you afraid of what _you’ll_ do?” Akashi takes another step, and then another, “Of what you’ll let yourself do with me?”

 

Furihata is gripping his arm so hard his hand is prickling with pins and needles. He refuses to look up, to look at Akashi; he only mumbles at the ground, voice barely audible, “P-please, Akashi-kun.”

 

“No,” Akashi says, firm. And Furihata trembles, because Akashi is so close to him in this moment, closer than he’s ever been since they’ve fallen over each other all those weeks ago. _Still not close enough._ When Akashi speaks again, his voice is a whisper right next to Furihata’s ear, “No, Kouki.”

 

Furihata suppresses a whimper. _Have mercy on me._

“I want- I need to know-” Akashi says, “-if you really are. If you’re truly jealous of Reo, then I need to know.”

 

“I-” Furihata voice breaks. _I can’t. I can’t tell, can’t let you know, can’t let you get any closer than this- can’t let you- can’t let_ myself _\--_

 

Then Akashi cups his hand on Furihata’s cheek and it’s all over.

 

Furihata looks up at Akashi, light brown eyes round and damp. In the smallest voice, almost childish, almost pouty, he grumbles,

 

“…he calls you ‘ _Sei-chan’._ ”

 

That’s all Akashi needs to hear.

 

“Kouki,” Akashi breathes, eyes wide and disbelieving, looking at Furihata like he’s something wonderful.

 

It makes Furihata want to cry.

 

Momentarily, he closes his eyes, allows himself to fully feel the touch of Akashi’s hand on his cheek. It’s warm and, subconsciously, Furihata inclines his head towards Akashi’s palm.

 

Akashi freezes. Stares at Furihata, decides to remove his hand-

 

-but then Furihata brings up his own hand to cover Akashi’s just as he is about to move it away, keeping him there. Because now that Akashi’s _finally_ touching him, Furihata can’t let him stop – not yet. Not now. Just a few seconds more.

 

“…” Akashi is deathly silent as he brings another hand to Furihata’s neck, smoothing down the curve of it until his little finger is trailing the hollow above Furihata’s collarbone. Furihata’s breath hitches, shudders out of him, and Akashi’s eyelids lower, relishing the sound.

 

Furihata’s fingers curl over Akashi’s own, and Akashi is tense, almost gritting his teeth.

 

“Kouki,” He says. A warning.

 

Furihata should probably listen. This is pushing it too far, this is not appropriate, this is not-

 

“Kouki,” A whisper, this time.

 

Furihata’s eyes flutter open and he inhales sharply because Akashi’s face is _right there_ , inches away from his own, his lips close enough to almost, _almost-_

Their eyes lock, frozen in the moment; those crimson orbs searching Furihata’s own, red-rimmed pupils burning and blown and it’s a vortex that Furihata can’t help but be sucked in, willingly consumed.

 

If this is a trap then Furihata has gone beyond saving. Beyond the point of return. Too far gone. And just this once- just this _one time_ -

 

“ _Just_ -” The word slips his mouth, but Furihata manages to cut himself off, biting his tongue, biting his lower lip until it’s near bleeding.

 

Akashi looks almost like he’s in pain, voice low and strained, “What is it?”

 

Furihata swallows thickly, eyes lowering to Akashi’s mouth.

 

“What do you want from me, Kouki?” Akashi whispers, and all Furihata can focus on is the way his lips move.

 

Furihata shakes his head, unable to say it. He can’t. If he gives in now, that would be betraying everything, undoing everything he’s done thus far, nullifying all his efforts, and Akashi’s too. But right now, it’s hard – so _damn_ hard – to remember why any of that is important.

 

Akashi’s hand on the side of his neck squeezes, and the pressure of it makes Furihata weak. One breath in and Akashi’s scent is all around him and Furihata just- _wants._ He wants this. It’s _torture_ how much he wants this.

 

For one second, one split second of guilty pleasure, Furihata allows his hand over Akashi’s on his cheek to squeeze back, just as firmly. But it is only for a second.

 

It’s a physical pain when Furihata forces himself to look away from Akashi’s lips, pulls himself out of the moment, and peels Akashi’s hand away from his face. Akashi lets him. But then Furihata doesn’t let go of Akashi’s hand, and Akashi doesn’t, either. So their hands stay like that, lingering between them.

 

“You _cannot_ do this,” Akashi hisses, “Do you understand? There is only so much self-control I can exercise.”

 

“I- I’m sorry,” Furihata chokes out, a lump forming in his throat.

 

“Let go of my hand.”

 

Furihata doesn’t want to.

 

“ _Kouki,_ ” Akashi says through gritted teeth.

 

In a spur of a moment’s decision, Furihata brings Akashi’s hand to his lips and presses a quick, chaste kiss to Akashi’s knuckles – surely, he is allowed to do just this? This isn’t too much to ask, isn’t too wrong of him?

 

Furihata lifts his eyes and Akashi’s red orbs look practically _furious._

 

“You-” Akashi grinds out under his breath, “-are making this _excruciatingly_ difficult.”

 

Furihata falters, “I-”

 

“Leave.”

 

“A-Akashi-kun…”

 

“ _Leave,_ Kouki,” Akashi pulls his hand away from Furihata’s grasp. “Before I do something I promised I wouldn’t.”

 

Furihata feels the absence of Akashi’s touch like a gaping hollow in himself. Ignoring his own burning eyes, Furihata nods quickly and turns away, reminding himself with every step why this is appropriate, why leaving is the right thing to do even when it feels so awfully _wrong_.

 

He takes three steps before Akashi stops him.

 

“Wha-”

 

Akashi grabs him by the wrist, pulling Furihata against his chest, and – like he cannot stop himself – presses an ardent kiss on Furihata’s forehead. He stays there for a few heart-aching seconds, before he brings a hand to the back of Furihata’s head and holds him close, Furihata’s face nestled into the crook of his neck.

 

And Furihata- Furihata allows himself this; shuts his eyes tight, inhaling in Akashi’s scent, his hand clinging onto the front of Akashi’s shirt.

 

For a moment, it feels like time has stopped. Time has stopped and all that is still moving, all that is important in this world, is standing here, like this, with Akashi’s nose buried in his hair, with Akashi holding him close enough that they can feel each other’s racing heartbeats.

 

_I want to stay here forever._

When Akashi releases him from his arms, the pain of the departure is visceral, and it takes all that Furihata has not to sob at the loss of his touch.

 

Akashi isn’t looking at him, his face turned sideways, his hand holding the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut. “Go,” He says, voice low, “Go now.”

 

Furihata nods, not trusting himself to speak.

 

He makes it about halfway out of the street when he hears Akashi call his name.

 

“Kouki.” His voice is heavy.

 

Furihata turns to look at him, finding his voice. It comes out as a wheeze, “Y-yes?”

 

“The next time you give even the slightest hint,” Akashi’s eyes glint in the twilight, “I won’t hold back.”

 

And it scares Furihata – the way Akashi looks at him like a predator, like a lion stalking it’s prey, like a snake before it springs to attack, like an eagle zeroing in before the dive--

 

It scares Furihata how much that doesn’t scare him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually am quite fond of Reo/Akashi. And Reo/Himuro (though it’s MuraHimu in this fic). Basically, I just really like Reo as a character xD
> 
> Once again, I’m terribly sorry for the delayed update but I hope you all enjoyed this chapter anyways – let me know your thoughts! Your comments make my day xx


	13. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Furihata receives a delivery at 3am.

_“Shintarou, I need a drink.”_

 

Midorima Shintarou, having been friends with one Akashi Seijuuro for many, many years, considers himself to be rather used to Akashi’s many idiosyncrasies. Receiving a phone call at 11pm to be invited out for _alcohol_ of all things, however, is a new one. And it was so unusual and out of character that Midorima, already settled in bed in his pajamas, decided to get up, get dressed, and sneak out of his house. (A rebellious move for a man like Midorima, but it’s not like he’s never done it before. Ever since- well, ever since Takao, really.)

 

That was four hours ago, and now it is past 2am and Midorima is sitting in Akashi’s apartment beside several empty bottles of different alcohols and a very, very drunk Akashi.

 

“It’s,” Akashi says, “ _frustrating_. Do you understand?”

 

“Not particularly,” Midorima says, eyeing the red wine sloshing in the glass Akashi is swinging in his hand.

 

“Of course not,” Akashi side-eyes him. “You and your growth are inseparable.”

 

“Growth,” Midorima says.

 

“Takao Kazunari.”

 

“He is not-,” Midorima frowns when Akashi opens a new bottle of red wine. “Akashi…” He says in warning.

 

“Yes?” Akashi doesn’t look at him, too focused on pouring the wine without spilling. He does a little, but corrects himself quickly.

 

Midorima pretends not to notice, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to drink more?”

 

“Yes,” Akashi says, bringing the glass to his lips, “I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

 

“I thought you were going back to Kyoto tonight.”

 

“Evidently, there’s been a change of plans. Since I’m here,” Akashi opens his palms up grandly. “In Tokyo.” The wine actually does slosh over with this movement and Akashi only smiles at the deep red spillage. “ _Drunk_ in Tokyo.”

 

“All of this,” Midorima says carefully, “Because you didn’t kiss Furihata Kouki?”

 

“ _No,_ ” Akashi waves his glass and more wine sloshes over, “It’s not that I did not kiss him.”

 

“But you said-”

 

“I know what I said. I didn’t, but it’s not _about_ that.”

 

Midorima looks at him, unconvinced.

 

“Fine. It’s a _little bit_ about that,” Akashi grumbles, putting his glass down – much to Midorima’s relief. “But it’s more of this- this _wanting-not-wanting._ He’s-” Akashi groans, “God, Shintarou, the way he looks at me.”

 

“How does he look at you?”

 

“Like-” Akashi pauses, considering this. “…like he’s _begging_ for me to touch him. But he doesn’t want it. He explicitly said so that he doesn’t want it.”

 

Midorima shrugs, “Maybe he does.”

 

Akashi blinks, “What?”

 

“People don’t always speak the truth, Akashi.”

 

“Don’t preach to me like that’s something I don’t already know, Shintarou.” Akashi says snippily. Then, he frowns, “…do you think that’s the case?”

 

“I don’t know him, Akashi. I can’t speak for him.”

 

“…” Akashi quiets down, tapping the wine glass in deep thought.

 

Then, to Midorima’s absolute horror, Akashi suddenly sits up, grabs the bottle of wine, then drinks _straight from the bottle_ , gulping it down like water.

 

“ _Akashi,_ ” Midorima is too shocked to even take action. By the time Midorima had thought about possibly pulling the bottle out from Akashi’s hand, Akashi had already put the bottle back down.

 

Akashi, in a very un-Akashi-like manner, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He glances over at Midorima, and made the most appalling little _giggle._

Akashi. Giggling. _Giggling._

 

Midorima simply cannot deal with it.

 

“I cannot deal with this,” He says as much, promptly standing up.

 

Akashi blinks up at him, “Shintarou, where are you going?”

 

Midorima is already pulling out his phone, side-eyeing Akashi.

 

“Getting help from my ‘growth’.”

 

 

…

 

 

“T-Takao-kun…?”

 

Furihata isn’t really sure what he expected to see when his doorbell rings at 3am, but Takao Kazunari – as in, that one strange kid who is dating the other strange green-haired kid who is childhood friends with Akashi (who, admittedly, is also a little strange) – is definitely not it. He blinks, and then rubs at his eyes to make sure his drowsiness isn’t conjuring this all up somehow.

 

Nope. Takao is still there, grins and all.

 

“Greetings, Furihata-san~,” Takao waves, looking far too chirpy for anyone who is up at 3am, “So so sorry to disturb you, were you sleeping?”

 

“A-ah, no, it’s fine,” It’s not. Not really. And anyone else would’ve probably minded but Furihata has always been strangely patient with students. He shakes his head, “Can I help you, Takao-kun?”

 

“Shin-chan has a delivery for you,” Takao says, his grin becoming sheepish. “I apologize in advance.”

 

“Huh? Delivery…?” Furihata doesn’t have time to wonder long before sounds of clunking and thumping came loudly from the apartment’s staircase. Five seconds later, Midorima Shintarou comes into view, carrying a- body…?

 

Furihata paled. _Oh my god, if they’d murdered someone…_

 

“Furihata Kouki,” Midorima, face stoic, nods at him in greeting. Then, without further warning, he practically _dumps_ the body he was carrying right into Furihata’s arms.

 

“Whoa-! Ah-” Furihata stumbles, taking the full weight of the person into his arms and steadying him. It is only then that the scent of this person’s body hits him, and Furihata didn’t even need to see the red hair underneath his hoodie to know exactly who it is. “A-Akashi-kun…?!”

 

Akashi, only half-conscious until now, perks up at his voice. “Nn- Kouki…?”

 

That is when the strong whiff of alcohol hits him and Furihata’s eyebrows rise all the way up his forehead. “Is he- um-” Furihata’s eyes are wide, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Is he _drunk_?”

 

“No,” Akashi says, at the same time Takao and Midorima says, in unison, “Yes.”

 

“ _Shhh_. Shintarou,” Akashi hushes him, eyes half-lidded, bringing his index finger to his lips.

 

“Very drunk,” Midorima adds, gloomily.

 

“Kouki,” Akashi is nuzzling into his neck now and it sends shivers like electricity down Furihata’s spine. He sighs into his neck, “You’re here.”

 

Everything about it – from Akashi’s soft murmur, to his arms around Furihata’s waist, and his palms on his back – is so _intimate_ that Furihata finds heat rushing up to his face and down his body and it actually makes him feel sort of embarrassed to be displaying this in front of Midorima and Takao.

 

Takao clearly notices it too because even he is blushing and averting his gaze. He reaches for Midorima’s hand and whispers, “Shin-chan, we should probably leave them to it.”

 

“Right,” Midorima subtly tucks Takao’s hand into his coat pocket. He looks at Furihata and nods, “He’ll be alright with you?”

 

“Y-yes, of course,” Furihata says, holding onto Akashi firmly, and without even thinking, he adds, “I’ll always take care of him.”

 

Then he realizes how _that_ sounds, and if Furihata hasn’t been blushing before, he’s definitely bright red now.

 

“Wow,” Takao says, because he cannot stop himself. Then he turns to Midorima, eyes wide blown, “Shin-chan. Wow.”

 

“Yes, Takao, I heard.” Midorima says, but even he is looking at Furihata with a new consideration in his eyes.

 

Furihata wants to bury himself into the ground.

 

 

…

 

 

 

Akashi Seijuuro is heavy.

 

Furihata doesn’t know why it should come as a surprise. After all, Akashi is taller than him, and from what Furihata can see, built mainly of muscle mass. But Furihata didn’t expect him to be _heavy_ – not like this, not like how a man is meant to be heavy, not so much that Furihata struggles to help half-carry him from front door to bedroom without becoming out of breath.

 

(Because, of course, having Akashi breathing down his neck and having Akashi’s arms all over him and Akashi’s low rumble humming next to his ear has absolutely _nothing_ to do with Furihata feeling breathless. Of _course_ not.)

 

“Kouki, are you alright?” Akashi peers, too close, at his face.

 

“Akashi-kun, you-” Furihata huffs, “-are in no position to ask me that right now.”

 

Akashi blinks at him slowly, leaning his chin over Furihata’s shoulder, “Why not?”

 

“Because you are drunk, Akashi-kun, please try to walk str-”

 

“Kouki, is this your bedroom?” Akashi’s attention has shifted and he glances around the room with interest.

 

“Uh- yes,” Furihata nods.

 

“You brought me to your bedroom.” Akashi says. Then, with a quirk to his lips, “How forward.”

 

“Wha-” Furihata is immediately flustered, “I-it’s not l-like _that,_ I just- there’s a bed and-”

 

“I can see that.” Akashi says, smiling. “Is that where we’re going to end up tonight?”

 

“We-” Furihata almost chokes. “ _You._ It’s where _you_ are going, not-”

 

“We _._ ”

 

“No, it’s-”

 

“ _Us._ ” Akashi’s smile widens.

 

“ _Just_ you!” Furihata says, exasperated.

 

“Heh, Kouki,” Akashi is leaning his head on Furihata’s shoulders and chuckling lightly, the quaking of his chest felt through the thin fabric of Furihata’s night shirt to his back. His arms have now moved to circle around his waist from behind, “You’re cute.”

 

Furihata swallows audibly. “…you’re drunk, Akashi-kun.”

 

“Not that much,” Akashi says. His hands are now rubbing slowly up and down Furihata’s side, the tip of his nose along the nape of Furihata’s neck sending him shivers all the way down his spine. “I can pretend to be. If that gives you an excuse.”

 

“E-excuse…?” Furihata squeaks. His heart is going a mile a minute and he is pretty sure Akashi can feel it, too.

 

“Hn,” Akashi’s hands are gently squeezing Furihata’s waist now, his lips grazing the back of Furihata’s neck, feather-light. “To let me do this.”

 

Akashi presses his lips onto the back of Furihata’s neck, warm and soft.

 

All breath shudders out of Furihata and he reaches to grab over Akashi’s hands with his own, “A-Akashi-kun-”

 

“I’m very drunk, Kouki,” Akashi whispers, his eyes limpid. He tilts his head over, his eyes on Furihata’s lips, their faces so close their noses are brushing; and all Furihata can think about is how Akashi’s lips would feel and whether he’ll taste the wine on his tongue still-

 

“ _I_ -” Furihata inhales sharply, pulling himself away from Akashi’s arms. “I’m gonna g-go get you some w-water.”

 

Akashi only stands there and watches him, a look of disappointment in his eyes.

 

“W-wait here, okay?” Furihata says, hurrying out of the room. Once he is out of sight, he presses one hand to his chest, one fist to his mouth, as he tries desperately to control his breathing and the rapid thundering in his chest.

 

 

…

 

 

Furihata comes back into the bedroom to find Akashi sitting on his bed, both legs crossed, with a book in his lap. And it is striking to Furihata, how much Akashi’s posture still resembles how he used to sit and read as a child. Only now he is so much taller, with lean limbs and long fingers, and a whole brand of sexual appeal that developed out of nowhere.

 

Furihata stands there, watching him for a moment longer, before he takes a breath and knocks on the doorframe. “Um, I got the water.”

 

Akashi looks up at him, “Kouki, do you want me?”

 

Furihata almost drops the glass of water but he manages to slam it onto the table instead and saves at least half the glass. He stares at Akashi, hands shaking by his side, “…Akashi-kun, I- you know I can’t answer that.”

 

“You can’t?” Akashi pulls out something from between the pages. “Then explain why you kept this.”

 

It was an old polaroid photo from a fireworks festival ten years ago. And it was Akashi in a pure white yukata, all curled up in Furihata’s lap, his little face snuggled into Furihata’s chest – and Furihata smiling down at him, fondness written all over his features. Akashi never knew Furihata took the photo – it was the only polaroid Furihata got from festival.

 

“You,” Furihata clears his throat, “You were the first kid I took care of. Of course I kept your photo.”

 

Akashi is looking at him, “In your bedside book.”

 

“…I needed a bookmark.”

 

“Kouki,” Akashi says, “Really.”

 

“I-” Furihata rolls in his lips, grabbing the glass of water and handing it to Akashi. “You should drink this.”

 

Akashi grabs his hand, “Kouki.”

 

“Just,” Furihata averts his eyes, “Drink the water. Please.”

 

He does, drinking from the glass without letting go of Furihata’s hand. Furihata watches Akashi’s Adam’s apple bob up and down and finds himself swallowing at the same time.

 

Furihata takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, “You know I care about you, Akashi-kun.”

 

“You ‘care’ about me.” Akashi says.

 

“I- I do,” Furihata opens his eyes to look at him, “You’re important to me.”

 

“Important.” Akashi says. “Is that what you meant when you said you’ll always take care of me?”

 

Furihata blinks at him, “Y-you heard that…?”

 

Akashi ignores the question, “I’m not a child.”

 

“I-” Furihata shakes his head, “I know that.”

 

_I know that very well._

“I’m not a child,” Akashi says again, “I don’t look at you the way a child would. I’m not six years old, and I’m not one of your students.”

 

“I know, Akashi-kun. I-”

 

“I want you.” Akashi says, with no uncertainty.

 

_I want you, too._ Furihata clenches his hands.

 

“It’s not enough,” Akashi pulls Furihata down to sit on the bed next to him. “It’s not enough for you to just want to _take care_ of me. I want more than that.”

 

Akashi reaches to Furihata’s face, his thumb pad brushing along his cheekbone, down his jawline, before coming to press over Furihata’s lower lip. And it’s so unfair that every time Akashi touches him he sets his skin on fire, like a deep heat spreading, seeping into his bones, crackling hot.

 

Furihata catches his wrist, holding his hand still, though his own hands are trembling. He lowers his eyes and speaks in a quiet voice, “…are you still drunk, Akashi-kun?”

 

Akashi moves closer, closer still, his other hand coming up to Furihata’s neck. He murmurs, “Do you want me to be?”

 

It would be easy, to say yes. To fall down into this without thinking, without care, to delve into Akashi and just, for a moment – a second, a minute, an hour – forget that he is in no position to be where he is. To have Akashi in his arms and actually _have_ him, get drunk on his kisses and his body heat, revel in the raw electricity between them. Have his hands all over, his lips all over, marking him, _claiming_ him because this is where he belongs.

 

He belongs with him, under his weight, because Akashi is _heavy_ and he is no longer the little child Furihata can just pick up and carry on his back.

 

And he doesn’t want to think – about propriety, about morals, or any of that nonsense. He wants to think about Akashi and Akashi’s hands and how he smells like amber and ice and fire and sandalwood, voice like brandy, lips like wine, and not _think_ about anything else, consequences be damned, and just drown deep into those crimson eyes he’s always _loved---_

Because Furihata does.

 

He loves Akashi Seijuuro.

 

And it would be so easy to say yes.

 

“No,” Furihata says, feeling like he’s breaking. “We can’t.”

 

_Because you are wonderful and you are going to have an amazing future with a beautiful wife and over-talented children and I can’t- I can’t drag you down when you have so much going for you—_

Akashi stares at him.

 

And it is the most awful feeling, watching Akashi’s eyes freeze over from gentle and warm to unfeeling shards of blood-red ice.

 

_\--because I love Sei-kun._

 

“…fine.” Akashi eventually says, letting go of him.

 

Furihata feels the loss like someone just tore out all the breath in his lungs. He clutches at his own chest, “A-Akashi-kun, please understand-”

 

“No _,_ ” Akashi glares at him, standing up and off the bed. “There’s nothing to understand. You’ve made your choice very clear.”

 

“That’s not-”

 

“If you can’t see that what we have is more than whatever it is that is holding you back,” Akashi says coldly, “Then I’m done trying to convince you.”

 

Furihata’s eyes are burning, “But I-”

 

“Enough,” Akashi turns away, “I don’t want to hear it.”

 

Looking at Akashi’s back, Furihata is painfully reminded of that time, ten years ago; when he was telling Akashi he was leaving, and Akashi had shrunk himself away from Furihata’s hand, his small body curled up into a ball and facing away from him, blocking himself off.

 

And it kills Furihata knowing that this is what _hurt_ looks like on Akashi, and once again, he’s the one who’s done it.

 

Akashi is walking away, and Furihata wants to scream because his chest hurts, his body hurts, he _hurts_ seeing Akashi like this. But all that comes out of his mouth is a shaky, “A-are you leaving…?”

 

Akashi doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t reply.

 

Furihata stands, legs feeling weak, “I-it’s late. You don’t have to go.”

 

“I can’t look at you,” Akashi says, flat. “So I’m going somewhere where I don’t have to.”

 

If words were knives, Akashi has just rammed Furihata clean through his gut.

 

“W-where-” Furihata takes a moment to calm his breathing, “Where will you go?”

 

“I don’t feel obligated to answer,” Akashi says, making his way out into the hallway.

 

“Akashi-kun,” Furihata follows him, albeit shakily. He stands by his bedroom door, hanging onto the frame. “ _Please_.”

 

Akashi stops, his back still turned away. “’Please’ what?”

 

“I just-” Furihata rolls his lips, fingers biting into the doorframe. “I just need to know you’ll be safe.”

 

Akashi scoffs, “…still playing the caretaker role, I see.”

 

Furihata clenches his fists, “I _care_ about you-”

 

“ _Don’t,_ ” Akashi finally turns around to look at him, eyes blazing. “Don’t say a word.”

 

“Just-” Furihata shakes his head, “Please, just, at least tell me where you’re going-”

 

“ _Kouki,_ ” Akashi’s voice is hard, raw.

 

“I _need_ to know,” Furihata says, equally stubborn.

 

Akashi exhales harshly, bringing a hand to his forehead. He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deep, before they slowly re-open; those red orbs trained on Furihata. Akashi opens his mouth, and in a completely neutral tone, says,

 

“Reo has an apartment in Tokyo.”

 

_Reo._

Furihata stills, stunned.

 

_Mibuchi Reo._

Mibuchi Reo with his long hair and long eyelashes and long limbs draping all over Akashi, with his melodious voice and coy-flirty smile, gorgeous emerald eyes all sweet and honey-glazed when they look at Akashi. Mibuchi Reo who plays basketball and knows about shogi and tofu soup. Mibuchi Reo who used to kiss and roll around in bed with Akashi.

 

Furihata feels dizzy.

 

And Akashi is walking to the door and walking away from him, walking away to go to _Mibuchi_ _Reo_ who is probably going to cuddle him and peck his cheek and _sleep with him_ —

 

And before Furihata even realizes what he is doing, he’s already grabbed onto the back of Akashi’s shirt like he’s clinging for dear life.

 

Akashi is staring at him with disbelief. “Let go.”

 

“I- I’m sorry,” Furihata says, but his hands are still tightly holding on.

 

“Let _go,_ Kouki _._ ” Akashi demands.

 

“I _can’t-_ ” Furihata says, desperately stuttering. “I-I _can’t_ , I’m sorry, I just- you- I- I just _can’t-_ ”

 

In a split second, Akashi flips their positions so that Furihata’s back is pressed against the wall and Akashi is trapping him in between his arms. Akashi’s hands are on either side of Furihata’s head, and Akashi is glaring right at him, his expression dark, his eyes on the verge of murderous.

 

“You-” Akashi says through gritted teeth, “-are _infuriating._ ”

 

Furihata is trembling, “I’m s-sorry.”

 

“Are you?” Akashi leans closer, voice low, “Because you keep doing this. You keep pulling me in and pushing me away, and then when I try to leave you won’t _let_ me.”

 

Furihata nibbles on his lower lip, “I don’t- I don’t mean to jerk you around, that’s not my intention-”

 

“Then tell me,” Akashi sighs, “What do you _want_ , Kouki?”

 

_You._ Furihata thinks, as he looks at Akashi who is right there in front of him, so close that he could smell the perfume from his collar. His hand twitches, wanting to touch, wanting it so much it’s hard to focus.

 

Furihata swallows thickly, his voice small, “…I want you to stay.”

 

Akashi’s eyes soften only for a moment, before they re-harden, “That’s not enough.”

 

“I,” Furihata whimpers, “I don’t know what else I can-”

 

Akashi cuts him off, “Tell me why.”

 

“Eh?”

 

“Why should I stay?” Akashi says, completely serious, eyes fixed on Furihata.

 

_Because I want you to. Because I don’t want you going to him, I don’t want you spending time with him, I want you to stay here, right here, with me._

“Akashi-kun…” Furihata whispers his name like a plea.

 

“Give me a reason to stay,” Akashi says, gentler this time. And he must have seen something in Furihata’s eyes, because he grows gentler still as he lowers one hand to brush a strand of hair from Furihata’s face.

 

Furihata shivers, chills rising over his arms. He mumbles, “If I ask you to stay, would you?”

 

“Give me a reason,” Akashi murmurs, his hand now cupping Furihata’s cheek.

 

_I want you to stay._

_I want **you**._

 

“I,” Furihata chews on the insides of his cheek, “I don’t have one.”

 

“Of course you do,” Akashi says, voice soft as he slips his free hand into Furihata’s own. “I know you do.”

 

Their palms slide against each other and, slowly, their fingers interlink, twining their hands together; Akashi’s thumb running up and down the side of Furihata’s index finger.

 

And even just that- just that tiny, insignificant motion makes Furihata feel like he’s burning.

 

“Kouki,” Akashi whispers, then says nothing else as he looks straight into Furihata’s eyes, clasps Furihata’s hand tight and—

 

\-- _squeezes._

And Furihata can’t- he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t function- because this. _This_. This is _their_ thing; always has been, since Akashi was six and Furihata was sixteen, right up until now, and Furihata has always been able to interpret Akashi’s hand squeezes like it’s their own secret language, has always felt privileged that he alone is privy to this. And he just _knows_ , he knows that right now, what Akashi is saying is-

 

‘ _Please.’_

\---Furihata can’t.

 

He can’t anymore.

 

Because resisting Akashi is like resisting gravity and Furihata _can’t_ anymore.

 

Wordlessly, Furihata reaches his free hand up to rest behind Akashi’s neck, his trembling fingertips sliding into the roots of his soft red hair like he always, _always,_ wanted to do.

 

Akashi freezes. He stares hard, unblinking.

 

Then Furihata nods, once, the smallest tilting forward of his head, as he meets his eyes and squeezes Akashi’s hand back, his voice coming out in one breath, “ _Akashi-kun_ -”

 

Furihata doesn’t even get a chance to properly start his sentence before Akashi is shoving him up against the wall and kissing him, hard.

 

_Yes. Yes, yes, gods yes, **finally** \--_

 

Their mouths crash against each other, lips mushing, teeth clanging – and it’s not romantic, not in the slightest – Akashi hands gripping onto him so tightly it’ll likely – no, definitely – leave bruises, black and blue, but right now Furihata cannot imagine a single thing that would feel better. Nothing could possibly feel better than Akashi’s hands all over him, kissing him like he’s _starving—_

_Yes._

“Open your mouth,” Akashi commands in between the kisses, his voice half-growl and half-beg and Akashi, Akashi Seijuuro, does _not_ do either of these things, but right now he doesn’t _care._ “Open your mouth for me.”

 

Furihata does.

 

And he cannot help the moan that escapes the back of his throat when their tongues brush against each other. Neither can he help his two hands going around Akashi’s neck, shamelessly clinging onto him, fingers sifting through his hair, kissing him back just as hard, all the while with his mind chanting, screaming _\- finally, finally—_

“ _Kouki_ ,” Akashi groans, fastening his lips back on Furihata, staking his claim again and again. And when that becomes not enough anymore, he leans his head over to Furihata’s neck and _bites._

Furihata whines, shuddering, shaking, hands clenching on Akashi’s shoulders.

 

“Kouki,” Akashi says his name again, as though in a trance, as he sucks on the angle of his jaw. His arms are all the way around Furihata’s waist now, clutching him close, pressing him so hard he is almost bending Furihata in half. _Mine._ “ _Kouki._ ”

 

“S-” Furihata gasps when Akashi bites down on his collarbone just a little too hard, but it’s still _good_ , and hearing Akashi’s voice calling his name like that, like he _craves_ him… that’s good, too. And Furihata doesn’t even realize that he’s saying anything as the words leave his lips in a breathless whimper.

 

“ _S-Sei-kun_ …”

 

Akashi may as well have been stabbed through the heart for the impact that has on him.

 

He grabs at Furihata and pulls him into a tight embrace, their chests pressed close enough to feel the rapid thumping of their heartbeats, and Akashi buries his face into the side of Furihata’s neck. They stay like that, still for a moment, silent apart from their thudding chests and shaky breaths.

 

“If this is your trick of making me stay,” Akashi murmurs against his neck, “It’s working.”

 

Furihata’s lips are still tingling, and he hugs Akashi’s closer, “It’s not a trick.”

 

Akashi hums, “I don’t want it to be.”

 

“There’s no trick,” Furihata says again. “I just…” Furihata looks down, rolling in his lips, before he looks up at Akashi from under his lashes, his face bright red as he whispers, “…I want you.”

 

Akashi groans, his voice throaty with desire. “You are _not_ fair.”

 

A giggle bubbles out of Furihata’s chest and he can’t help himself – he’s not felt so giddily excited, so elatedly happy in forever.

 

Akashi pulls back to look at him, his eyes warm as he watches Furihata giggle against his shoulders. He pinches Furihata’s cheek, “Don’t laugh at me.”

 

Furihata only smiles up brightly at him, still laughing lightly, “Heh, but you’re just _so_ cu _-_ mmph-!”

 

Without warning, Akashi tilts Furihata’s chin up and kisses him full on the lips, mid-laughter.

 

This time, it is slow.

 

It is gentle and soft and sensual, and Furihata finds himself melting into it immediately, all giggles drowned away by the sudden rush of heat spreading over his body.

 

This time, it is romantic. It is one of those famed stomach-butterflies-inducing, toes-curling, baby-making, imaginary fireworks shooting off in the background kind of kisses. And it makes Furihata absolutely weak at the knees.

 

Akashi is merciless, kissing Furihata until he’s dazed and breathless, kiss-swollen and boneless in Akashi’s arms.

 

“…not fair,” Furihata mumbles weakly when it’s over, leaning his head against Akashi’s chest.

 

“I’d like to stay here tonight,” Akashi says, his smile only an angle away from a smirk. “If you’d let me.”

 

Furihata only looks at him dazedly, “Not fair.”

 

Akashi blinks, “Is that a no?”

 

“You know it isn’t,” Furihata huffs.

 

Akashi is definitely grinning now, and he squishes Furihata into him. “Lift your legs.”

 

“My- my legs…?” Furihata is confused. “Uwah-!”

 

Furihata yelps when Akashi suddenly scoops him up from underneath his thighs, and he can do nothing but wrap his legs around Akashi’s waist and cling to his neck to stop himself from falling. It suddenly occurs to Furihata that he is straddling Akashi, and that’s obscene, and his heart is jumping out of his throat because Akashi is definitely carrying him in the direction of his bedroom and- quite frankly, Furihata doesn’t have anything left in him to fight it.

 

With every step that Akashi takes him closer to the bedroom, Furihata feels his body growing warmer, hotter still in Akashi’s arms, his skin on fire at every point of contact. It’s almost to the point where it’s near _painful_ to be this close to Akashi and yet, somehow, still not close enough.

 

Because physical contact, no matter how electrifying it is, it’s- just that. Just physical contact. And what Furihata wants- what he _needs_ is…

 

Furihata asks, quietly. “…are you still drunk?”

 

Akashi stops walking, pausing just in front of Furihata’s bedroom. He thinks about it for a moment.

 

Furihata watches him.

 

“No,” Akashi says, eventually. Then, after a breath, adds, “And I don’t want to pretend to be, either.”

 

“…no?”

 

“I don’t want to give you an excuse,” Akashi says, more open and honest and _vulnerable_ than Furihata has ever seen, “For wanting me. This is- it’s real for me, Kouki. And I-”

 

Furihata holds his breath.

 

Akashi looks at him, “I need it to be real for you, too.”

 

And Furihata swears his chest could’ve been speared right through, because that is _exactly_ what he needs, _exactly_ what he wanted to say himself, and god, he cannot believe how perfect- Akashi is perfect, he is _perfect,_ and-

 

Deep down, Furihata always has known. He’s always known that resisting Akashi is like resisting gravity, is like resisting the inevitable, and Furihata _can’t_ -

 

He can’t.

 

And, honestly, he doesn’t want to. Not anymore.

 

“Okay,” Furihata whispers as he leans in to kiss Akashi sweetly on the lips. When he moves back, his brown eyes are wet at the lashes. Furihata shakes his head, “…I don’t need any excuses, Sei-kun.”

 

And seeing the way Akashi’s face splits into a smile at that-

 

-well, it makes Furihata realize that he’ll never be able to resist anything from this man ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sincerely sorry it took so long for this update D: It’s just the more the tension builds up, the more I want this to be great. So between life demands and me scrapping away far too many versions before I am finally happy- it just took wayyy longer than I wanted it to. So do let me know if you’ve enjoyed it! I read each and every one of your comments and they literally make my day :) As always, thank you for reading and supporting this fic xx


	14. I Knew I Loved You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Furihata reaches over and cups Akashi’s sun-kissed cheek.
> 
> Warning: There is an explicitly described sex scene in this chapter and unfortunately all the emotional fluffy stuff is interlaced within these scenes so you can’t really skip it (unless you want to skip the fluff) so I apologize if it’s not your cup of tea.

Touching Furihata is a form of addiction, Akashi is certain.

 

Not for the smoothness of his skin, or the unexpected firmness hidden under his supple flesh – those are pleasant, of course, and Akashi will not deny that they contribute to his craving to run his hands down the expanse of Furihata’s skin and grab and squeeze and feel. Nor can Akashi deny how Furihata’s subtle shampoo-fresh, soapy clean with a hint of vanilla scent makes him heady with desire; makes Akashi want to bury his nose in Furihata’s soft hair, into the warm curves and folds of his neck and arms and thighs.

 

But the addiction, the true addiction, lies in Furihata’s reactions.

 

The way his breath stutters and releases when Akashi drags his nails up the side of his ribs. The shuddering of his skin. The trembling of his fingers as Furihata trails them, uncertainly, along the back of Akashi’s shoulders. His red-hot blush that blooms all over his cheeks right down his neck and to the tips of his ears. The tiny, surprised gasps with big brown eyes blown wide when Akashi’s mouth covers his taut nipples and _sucks_. The choked-off moan when Akashi introduces a hint of teeth, and how Furihata’s _entire body_ quivers with it. The small, almost pleading whimpers swallowed in Akashi’s kisses.

 

Gods, how he drives Akashi crazy.

 

It makes him want to bully Furihata more, to make him burn and writhe under his touch, to see those caramel eyes all glazed over and watery with desperate desire for him. Because that’s the thing that gets Akashi the most – that all of this, all of Furihata’s hitching breaths and muffled pleasure, is all for _him._ No one else. Him. Because Furihata is his, now, _finally_ his, and all Akashi wants to do, all Akashi _can_ do, is mark and claim and make a mess of Furihata, make him cry out his name, until all he can see is _mine, mine, mine._

 

“Shhh,” Furihata is hushing into his ears, his shallow breath on his cheek.

 

“Hm?” Akashi hums back, lips on his neck.

 

“It’s okay,” Furihata whispers.

 

Akashi doesn’t understand. He pulls back to look at Furihata’s face, “Kouki?”

 

Furihata’s eyes are warm, half-lidded. The sun is coming up and the faint light of it reflects in the caramel of his irises and Akashi thinks to himself that he would gladly wake up to look into these eyes for all the mornings to come. They look deep into Akashi’s own eyes, pupils dilated, as Furihata murmurs, “You’re holding onto me like I’m about to fly away.”

 

Akashi blinks. It is only then that he realizes the way his hands are gripping onto Furihata, iron-hard until he’s almost down to the small bones of Furihata’s wrists. His legs as well are trapping Furihata’s own down, locking him onto the bed in a position where it is impossible for him to slip away.

 

“I don’t mean to,” Akashi says, though he doesn’t move. Not an inch.

 

“Akashi-kun,” Furihata says, gently.

 

Akashi grinds his teeth, “ _No_.”

 

“No…?”

 

“No,” Akashi hisses, his eyes wide in something akin to mild panic, “You can’t. You can’t, okay? Not now. Not now, Kouki, not now that I’ve finally--”

 

“Akashi-kun,” Furihata says, louder.

 

“No, I can’t. I can’t let you-”

 

“ _Sei-kun_ ,” Furihata is staring right at him. “Sei-kun. Sei. Stop.”

 

Akashi stops. His grip on Furihata’s wrists is tight to the point where Furihata’s hands are starting to go numb. His red eyes are wide as they glare down at Furihata, wavering only just slightly.

 

“Let go of my hands,” Furihata says, voice soft.

 

A wave of pure _dread_ washes over Akashi and he shakes his head, gripping onto Furihata harder, “No, Kouki-”

 

 _I can’t. Not this, not again. Not this, not when I finally have you, don’t go don’t go don’t_ leave _\---_

 

“Sei,” Furihata says, “Let go.”

 

Akashi Seijuuro has, for all his life, been raised to be strong. To be a leader, a commander, the prodigious heir to the empire that was his family name. He’s perfect, they all say, he’s got everything, he wins everything, and he’s undefeatable because he is so, so strong.

 

But right now, right on this bed with Furihata looking at him and telling him to let him go in that voice that makes Akashi’s chest feels like it’s caving in on itself… Akashi has never felt so _weak_.

 

So he lets go, because his lungs feel like they’re crushing, and he hasn’t got the power to keep Furihata here. He’s got everything anyone could ever want, but as Furihata’s wrists slip out of his grasps, there is nothing Akashi has in him to make him stay; he is reduced back to the small eight year old who cannot stop Furihata from leaving because that’s what Furihata wants.

 

_Is it not enough?_

Akashi closes his eyes…

 

_Am I still not enough to make you stay?_

 

“…!”

 

…and reopens them when Furihata throws both his arms around his neck and holds him close, hugging Akashi so tight that they can feel the rise and fall of each other’s breath.

 

“Kouki…?” Akashi breathes, voice on the verge of breaking.

 

“I’m here,” Furihata says, fingers trembling even as he runs them through Akashi’s hair, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Okay? So please don’t touch me like you’re afraid I’m going to disappear. I’m not. I’m right here, Sei-kun, and I’m not leaving you, I’m _not_ -”

 

Akashi kisses him, and Furihata moans right into it, hand clutching onto Akashi’s shoulders as he kisses back like it’s all he’s ever known. They fall back down into the bed, this time with Furihata’s arms and legs free to wrap around Akashi bodily, to surround him with his presence and show him how much he is here, how much he _wants_ to be.

 

“I’m sorry,” Furihata whispers between kisses, “I’m so sorry. I never forgot about you, Sei-kun, I didn’t want to leave you at all-”

 

Akashi briefly lets go of Furihata to sit up and pull his shirt off over his head, before he dives straight back down to kissing Furihata’s lips, their chests now skin-to-skin, the heat between them burning that much stronger.

 

“Ever since Kinosaki I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’ve always wanted to be a part of your life, but I didn’t realize how much I _wanted_ -” Furihata breaks off into a gasp, arching his back when Akashi slid down and bit the soft flesh of his inner thighs.

 

Akashi’s fingers were tugging down the waistband of his boxers then, and Akashi marveled at the smoothness of Furihata’s skin, the tan lines that cut right above his hip bones than jut out like two tiny triangles. Akashi runs his thumbs over them and down his V-line, watching how it makes Furihata thighs quiver – doing it again, harder, lower, just to see Furihata’s hips jerk up in shameless desire.

 

The front of Furihata’s boxers were already soaked by the time Akashi pulls the whole thing off of him, revealing Furihata’s weeping cock. It’s bigger than what Akashi expected, but still cute, like the rest of him, and Akashi doesn’t even hesitate to press the flat of his tongue over the head.

 

Furihata shuddered all through to his toes, breath catching in his throat, “ _Yes_.”

 

Just that one word makes blood rush down Akashi’s body, desire cresting within him like a wave. Furihata wants him, he _wants_ him, and Akashi is going to _take him apart._

“…!” Furihata chokes back a whimper when Akashi opens his mouth and sinks down until his lips has covered him all the way to the base.

 

Then, with a flick of his red eyes up to meet Furihata’s own, Akashi _sucks._

The noise that Furihata makes is half moan and half scream, and his head tilts so far that it hits the back of his bed with a loud _thump._ His hands are shaking white fists, crumpling up the bed sheets within them.

 

“Here,” Akashi says, throatily, as he pulls off Furihata with a wet _pop._ He takes one of Furihata’s hands and places them over his head, closing his hand over Furihata’s so that he fists it in his hair. “Do as you like.”

 

“Sei, I-” Furihata is gaping at him, cheeks flushed and voice shaky, “I can’t.”

 

Akashi licks his lips, “I can take it.”

 

“ _Sei,_ ” Furihata insists, even as he is obviously trembling for it. His hand comes down to cup Akashi’s cheek, gently, like Akashi is the most precious thing he’s ever held in his life.

 

Akashi knows what Furihata is thinking – how it must look like to him. Akashi, younger and the untouchable heir, on his knees between Furihata’s thighs with his lips wet and hovering over his cock, telling him to fuck into his mouth in no uncertain terms. Like Akashi isn’t _the_ Akashi Seijuuro; like Akashi wasn’t the child that Furihata did his best to keep out of harm’s way, wouldn’t even let a single _scratch_ be laid upon him.

 

Honestly, Akashi doesn’t care.

 

It doesn’t matter who he is or what he used to be to him. Furihata Kouki is here now and Akashi wants nothing more than to give him all the pleasure in the world until he is shaking with it.

 

“I can’t,” Furihata is still saying, “I-I’m not de _servi-AH-!_ ”

 

Akashi ignores all his complaints and deep throats him once again in one go. Furihata yelps, his hand unconsciously gripping on to Akashi’s hair.

 

“D-don’t- Sei-” Furihata sounds like he is biting back tears.

 

It only fuels Akashi on. He grabs onto Furihata’s hips with both hands and starts moving him, up and down, in time with the back and forth of his head as he swirls his tongue around Furihata’s cock and feel it pulse inside his mouth. The salty bitter taste of precum is intoxicating – makes him suck harder, pull him in deeper until he is barely avoiding to choke.

 

“Agh-” Furihata is gritting his teeth, unable to stop himself from groaning and tugging on Akashi’s hair. He bites on his lower lip, no longer capable of holding back when it feels so good, so hot, and Akashi’s mouth is heaven and _how could he be blamed for letting himself go?_

“Mmpf,” Akashi feels it, the moment when Furihata starts thrusting his hips of his own accord, and it makes his blood thrum with excitement. He hums around him, encouraging it, reaching up a hand to thumb over Furihata’s hardened nipple.

 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Furihata hisses, nails digging into Akashi’s scalp, increasing the rhythm of his thrusts, “S-so good, Sei…! I’m-!”

 

Akashi can tell that Furihata is close, by the stuttering of his hips, the hitching of his breaths as he moans Akashi’s name. And so, with a complete and utter lack of mercy, he suddenly pulls off right at the moment before release and grabs the base of Furihata’s cock and squeezes tight.

 

“Hnngh--” Furihata bites out a whimper, low and desperate. He is panting harshly, his cock leaking over Akashi’s hand as soon as he relaxes his hold around the base. His brown eyes are wet as they look up at Akashi curiously.

 

“Not yet,” Akashi says, as though answering Furihata’s question. He gently brushes the hairs sticking to Furihata’s forehead away from his face as he sighs. “It’s not enough.”

 

Something seems to strike a cord within Furihata, then, because his eyes become much more watery. The sight of it makes Akashi ache; makes him want to curl him up so he’s safe from all the harm in the world.

 

Furihata sits up, slowly, his legs still shaky as he shuffles closer to Akashi and leans his head on his shoulders. When he speaks, his voice is tearful, “Sei-kun…”

 

“Don’t cry,” Akashi says instantly just as his arms automatically come around Furihata’s shoulders. His chest feels tight. “Why are you crying?” He never knows what to do when Furihata is crying.

 

“Me too,” Furihata muffles into his neck, “It’s been too long, and it’s my fault, it’s all my fault, really, and I don’t even deserve- So the fact that you’re here at all even after all this time-” Furihata shakes his head, breath hitching. “But I- I’ve missed you, and I’ve wanted you, I tried not to, I really tried, but I still did, I still missed you and I still wanted you so badly and it’s- it’s not _enough_. It’s _not enough for me, too-_ ”

 

“ _Kouki,_ ” Akashi’s heart feels like it’s going to burst. He pulls Furihata into his lap, cradling Furihata’s head to his chest like a child. His own heart is thumping against his ribs, a thousands miles a minute, and he’s sure Furihata can hear it well.

 

“I’m sorry,” Furihata says again, tears falling now that he’s being held in Akashi’s arms, “For being selfish. For being stubborn. All those years, ten years I left, and then I made you wait even more...”

 

“Don’t talk,” Akashi murmurs against the top of his head. “Don’t talk anymore, Kouki.”

 

Akashi’s chest hurts. It hurts. Has been hurting since that day, ten years ago, when a brown-haired boy took his heart and ran away with it. And he tried to numb it out, ignore that it was gone even when he needed it – when his mother passed away and he was breaking from the inside out; when he felt ‘defeat’ for the first time and crushed his own persona into a box and twisted and evolved it into something terrifying and unfeeling – because it _was_ gone, stolen and gone right along with his brown-haired boy.

 

His Furihata Kouki.

 

But that’s okay. It’s okay now. Furihata is here and it’s okay now.

 

Even though it’s not the same – that gaping hole he left only grew with the years, and he’d wanted, been wanting and missing Furihata for too much and too long – but that’s okay.

 

“It will be enough,” Akashi says, kissing away Furihata’s tears, “Because you’re here now.”

 

It takes all that Furihata has not to sob and fall apart in Akashi’s arms then. Akashi can see it, in the way he sucks in a deep breath, then exhales, long and shaky. Instead, Furihata whispers, “…I missed you so much.”

 

“I missed you, too,” Akashi admits, quietly. “Not all the time. I didn’t want to. It was easier not to.”

 

Furihata nods. “I understand.”

 

“It was harder after Kinosaki,” Akashi says, “You were tangible, then. It made me want you so much more.”

 

“Have you always…?” Furihata trails off. It was difficult to imagine. Akashi was so young when he left.

 

“No. Not like this, not in the way I want you now,” Akashi says, trailing his hand down the curve of Furihata’s waist. “I always knew I wanted to be the most important person to you, though. That has never changed. The physical side, however…” Akashi tilts his head, a quirk in his lips. “Maybe when I hit first year of middle school?”

 

“First?!” Furihata gapes.

 

“The captain of Teikou’s basketball team back then, well. He was a third year,” Akashi hums, “He gave me some ideas.”

 

“Oh gods,” Furihata pales, “What did he-?”

 

Akashi chuckles, “No, no. Nothing like that. He only showed me videos and magazines he probably shouldn’t have been showing me.”

 

“Oh,” Furihata sighs, “Phew.”

 

“Come to think of it though, he did kiss me quite a lot,” Akashi says casually.

 

“ _What._ ” Furihata snaps his head to look at Akashi.

 

“What,” He grins, “Jealous, Kouki?”

 

“ _No._ ” Furihata says. Then, with a pout, “…yes.”

 

Akashi’s grin widens, “You’re unexpectedly possessive. It’s charming. Especially with the whole Reo thing-”

 

“ _Don’t talk about Mibuchi Reo,_ ” Furihata snipes sharply.

 

Akashi blinks. Then laughs.

 

“It’s not funny!” Furihata huffs.

 

Akashi only hugs him, rocking him in his lap, still laughing openly, “If it’s any consolation to you, you can kiss me as much as you want now.”

 

“Only me,” Furihata narrows his eyes.

 

“Only you,” Akashi chuckles.

 

“Good,” Furihata says, before he proceeds to kiss Akashi full on the lips.

 

It doesn’t take long at all before the desire between them, having been built up for so long, comes roaring back like a flame.

 

Akashi doesn’t really know what he expected Furihata to be like in bed. He’s thought about it, of course, fantasized and dreamt, about how it would be. In his head Furihata is always naïve – an innocent, stuttering over his words, shy through and through, with the smallest hint of lewdness coming out only when Akashi has driven him to his limits. It would always be Akashi who showed him what to do, where to place his hands, and teasing him to let out his voice; and Furihata would probably afraid, probably nervous of it all, and Akashi would do his best to calm him. That, the blushing-almost-virgin, is the Furihata he thought would be the closest to reality; what he thought he would encounter.

 

Which is why when Furihata, the real one right in front of him, reaches over for a bottle of lube to squirt all over his fingers before he pushes Akashi back down onto the bed and straddles Akashi’s hips as he reaches behind to _finger himself open_ —well, Akashi is more than surprised.

 

Pleasantly so, because this Furihata is _lewd,_ yet with all the innocent reactions of the one from his imagination, and it is _glorious._

“You look shocked,” Furihata pants, as he pushes two fingers in himself, lips parted and cheeks beautifully flushed.

 

“I am in awe,” Akashi murmurs, still unable to take his eyes off him for a second as he runs his hands up and down Furihata’s sides and delighting in the way it makes him shiver. “You are _wonderful_ ,” he says, breathless.

 

Furihata blushes, adorably, and he averts his eyes, “Not- what you pictured?”

 

“Better,” Akashi says, honestly, “So much better.”

 

Furihata smiles, dimpling, and says through shaky breaths, “You thought- about doing this- with me?”

 

“Of course I did. A whole lot,” Akashi says without an ounce of shame. His eyes are glued to Furihata’s fingers and what they are doing, mesmerized, with the occasional glance back up to Furihata’s face because that part of him is mesmerizing too. “And you didn’t?”

 

“Had to- stop myself,” Furihata pants, face bright red, “I’m a _teacher_.” He says, indignantly, as he fucks himself with his own fingers.

 

“Is that so,” Akashi says, a smirk crawling up his lips, “Then, should I call you _sensei?_ ”

 

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Furihata actually stops to glare at him. “ _No_. Absolutely not. Please don’t. I’m serious.”

 

“Oh?” Akashi raises a brow, clearly enjoying this. “Is _sensei_ going to punish me if I do?”

 

“I am going to push you off the bed,” Furihata mutters under his breath. “And then flip it over you.”

 

Akashi is grinning widely, “It’s not good to bully your students, _Furi-sensei-_ ”

 

“Akashi Seijuuro I swear to- _ah_ _god-!_ ”

 

The last bit is much less intimidating when it becomes a sharp whine as Akashi slips in a finger right next to Furihata’s two already inserted inside.

 

“S-Sei,” Furihata whimpers, “T-take it out…”

 

“Let me, Kouki,” Akashi breathes, lowly. “I want to.”

 

Furihata nods, shuddering as he removes his two fingers and immediately hissing when Akashi replaces them with his own. “Ah- your fingers- are longer…”

 

“Mm-hm,” Akashi says, distracted, because _holy wow Kouki is tight and it’s so hot inside._

Furihata bites his lower lip, “If you- um- if you angle it just slightly forw- oh yes yes there there _there_ -”

 

“Here?” Akashi presses his fingertips at the same spot and Furihata gasps loudly, collapsing forward to clutch hard onto Akashi’s shoulders, his entire frame quivering like he’s been struck.

 

“I think,” Akashi is breathing heavily, enthralled by Furihata’s reaction. “I can make you come, just like this.”

 

“Mm-!” Furihata jolts, biting back a groan as Akashi presses directly on that spot again, panting harshly, his thighs shaking. “N-no… Sei, I want--”

 

“I know,” Akashi says, withdrawing his fingers, marveling at the way Furihata clenches around them as he did, almost like he was chasing him, pulling them back in. Akashi swallows, throat dry with want, “God, Kouki…”

 

Furihata is already tearing open a condom and rolling it on Akashi. His hands are trembling, equally as excited, and Akashi absolutely adores it.

 

“O-okay,” Furihata breathes, suddenly nervous as he hovers above Akashi’s cock. His lust-glazed eyes flit up to Akashi’s hooded ones, “R-ready?”

 

“More than anything,” Akashi says, leaning over to peck Furihata sweetly on the lips. “I want you, Kouki. More than anything.”

 

Furihata’s chest blooms with that, and slowly, with Akashi’s hands on Furihata’s hips supporting him, he lowers himself down.

 

“Hah-” The first part is always slightly painful, but it’s nothing he can’t tolerate, and the pressure and press of Akashi’s head, the heat of it, it’s good, it’s so good, and Furihata can’t help but gasp and whimper as he is stretched out slow and sweet by Akashi’s hard cock.

 

“You’re doing great,” Akashi murmurs next to his ear, kissing his cheek, sighing, “Kouki, it feels so good…”

 

Furihata shivers as he sinks down the last bit. His breaths are coming out short and shallow, “H-hold on, just a little bit.”

 

“Yeah,” Akashi wants to tell him he could hold on forever, but that would be a lie, because no, Akashi cannot hold on forever because Furihata Kouki is sitting on his cock and it’s hot and it’s so tight and wet and all Akashi wants to do is thrust up into him and make him scream and come and-

 

“Okay,” Furihata is nodding, clutching onto Akashi desperately, “Sei, you can move.”

 

Akashi doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

They make love like they’ve known each other forever – which, in a way, they sort of do; but not like this, not in this intimate moving and grinding of their bodies in perfect tandem; not with their lips wet and kiss-swollen and panting each other’s names like they cannot have enough. And it’s exactly that – making love. Not just sex, not a simple fuck, because yes, it is raw and carnal but it is also so, so much _more._

 

And it’s a delicate, special thing, to have someone this close, to look into someone’s eyes at their most open, most vulnerable, and think to yourself – _yes. It’s you. You’re the one who’s made for me, and I will show you all the ways I’m made for you._

 

“Kouki,” Akashi groans, lifting Furihata before pushing him down on his back to thrust in him faster, harder, deeper. All the while watching his face, drinking him in like he is caught in a spell.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Furihata all but sobs, legs clamping onto Akashi like a lifeline as he pushes his hips back to meet his thrusts; screaming when Akashi hits that spot _just so_. “ _Sei-!_ ”

 

Somewhere amidst the heat of everything, their hands find each other, and Akashi presses his palm into Kouki’s, their fingers intertwining – and it makes them feel so much closer, because isn’t this what they’ve always done? Since the start, with no one else; Furihata took Akashi’s hand into his own, understood what it meant when he squeezed it, and Akashi never ever wants to let go.

 

“Kouki, I’m-” Akashi sounds choked, his hips thrusting erratically, his grip on Furihata bruising.

 

“Yes,” Furihata is nodding furiously, understanding exactly what he wants, what he needs. “Yes, you can, Sei, do it. I want it- inside-”

 

Akashi comes with a stuttered gasp, thrusting deep into Furihata, hands intertwined and gripping tight. Furihata watches him with hazy eyes and a faint smile on his face, pulling their joined hands towards him so he can kiss Akashi’s wrist and feel the racing pulse on his lips.

 

Akashi crawls over Furihata after, body still thrumming in post-orgasm daze, and he kisses all over Furihata’s neck and face like he worships him.

 

“Here,” He whispers, taking hold of Furihata’s still-hard and aching cock, “Let me take care of you, Kouki.”

 

It only takes a few jerks of Akashi’s hand before Furihata is coming all over his stomach. Akashi strokes him through it, kissing his shoulder as Furihata comes down from the orgasm, toes curled and body twitching.

 

They lie there like that, tangled limbs and holding hands as the sun rises fully and shines morning light onto them. And it’s warm. So, so warm.

 

Like that first day Furihata woke up next to Akashi, to find the little boy already staring at him with those big red eyes.

 

There are birds singing, somewhere far away.

 

_\--_

_“H-hello. Akashi-kun, right?”_

_“Good afternoon.”_

_“Ah-! How could I not remember? Heeh, sorry about that. You were craning your neck to look at me – that probably wasn't very nice, ne? Now you can just look straight at me. Is this better?”_

_“Yes. This is better.”_

_“W-well, it's nice to finally meet you Akashi-kun. My name is Furihata Kouki.”_

_“Akashi Seijuuro. It's a pleasure to meet you too.”_

\--

_“Don't go, Kouki.”_

 

\--

 

_“My eyes are starved of your sight and it’s your fault. Take responsibility, Kouki.”_

 

\--

 

_“Being raised in my family, I never wanted for much, as there is little that I don’t have… But ever since I was a child, Kouki, I never stopped wanting you to be mine.”_

\--

 

_“I’m not very patient. So hurry up and become mine already, Kouki.”_

_\--_

_“Give me a reason to stay.”_

_\--_

The sunlight hits the side of Akashi’s face, alighting just one of his striking red eyes. Still on Furihata, watching him, staring at him, even after all this time.

 

Furihata reaches over and cups his sun-kissed cheek.

 

“I love you, Sei,” Furihata says, eyes watery, “I love you very much.”

 

Akashi’s eyes widen, pupils blown.

 

And Akashi doesn’t remember the last time he cried, but as he pulls Furihata close and buries his face into his hair, his eyes are wet too.

 

It takes him a while, too choked by tears and heart too full in his chest to even say anything. Furihata only cuddles him close, eyes sleepily falling shut even as he rubs Akashi’s trembling shoulders soothingly. Furihata doesn’t need to hear it – he sees it in everything Akashi does, in every look and every stare, feels it in every hand-squeeze, and hears it every time Akashi calls his name. He doesn’t need to hear Akashi say the words, because the way Akashi’s eyes widened and teared up when Furihata told him is more than enough.

 

Furihata is already falling asleep when Akashi calls his name, voice throaty.

 

“Kouki,” He says, “Are you awake?”

 

Furihata hums pleasantly, snuggling into Akashi’s chest.

 

But he hears it. Drifting into sleep as he is, he hears it all the same, loud and clear even though Akashi is speaking barely above a whisper.

“You’re all I ever wanted, Kouki,” Akashi says, “I love you more than I can say.”

 

Furihata smiles, and squeezes his hand.

 

 

…

 

**Epilogue – 3 months later**

Kyoto is beautiful.

 

Furihata hasn’t been here in a while, and he’s forgotten just how beautiful it is – not only for it’s sights and temples and trees, but just the whole vibe of the city. There’s a certain zen about the whole the place, an ancient sort of charm, all serene and calming and—

 

“Oh whoa, look who it is, it’s Akashi’s boyfriend! Heeeey! Furihata-san! Furihata-san, over here, over here!”

 

Furihata sighs. Somehow, he knew this would happen.

 

He waves back weakly at Takao Kazunari – who is waving at him with his _entire arm_ it seems with how vigorous he is doing it, laughing like he has no care in the world – and makes his way over to The Group. Even though it’s the last thing he wants to do. Because it’s the _polite_ thing to do; because these are _Akashi’s friends._

 

_Even though they are also the Generation of goddamn Miracles (with some of their plus ones who are generally almost equally ridiculous) and also really, really tall and intimidating, the whole lot of them, and for goodness’ sake are they really still high school kids? What the hell---_

 

“Furihata-san! Long time no see!” Takao beams at him. The boy is wearing a strawberry-red headband today and still manages to pull it off looking quite considerably attractive. Unbelievable. “How are things? And when I say how are _things,_ I really mean, how is the whole banging-the-one-and-only-Akashi-Seijuuro thing?”

 

Furihata blinks, “Um.”

 

“Takao, don’t be rude,” Midorima Shintarou scolds, having the decency to look embarrassed for his boyfriend even as he carries a plushie that looks suspiciously like a phallus.

 

“Ah, hello, Midorima-kun,” Furihata greets. And because he cannot stop himself, “Is that plushie a…?”

 

“Squid,” Midorima says, sternly. “It’s a squid.”

 

“Interesting colour for a squid,” Furihata says, eyeing the beige-colored doll. It’s definitely a dick, right? Right?

 

“Aww, but Shin-chan, I wanna know the details! I didn’t help them get together for nothing!” Takao whines. “Come on, Furihata-san, please, you gotta give me something at least. Is he aggressive? Is he into bondage?” Takao gasps, dramatically. “ _Does he use scissors?_ ”

 

“Huh?” Furihata is very confused, “S-scissors…?”

 

“Takao, _Shut. Up._ ” Midorima grumbles as he drags Takao to the side to ‘have words’. (Which, from where Furihata is standing, just looks like a lot of Takao whining and pouting at Midorima who is pretending to be annoyed not find it adorable.)

“I apologize on behalf of Midorima-kun and Takao-kun,” says a voice behind him.

 

“Ah!!” Furihata jumps, and turns around to see a familiar looking blue-haired kid. “It’s you!”

 

“Good morning, Furihata-san.” He says, bowing his head politely.

 

Furihata, feeling rude because he can’t for the life of him remember this boy’s name, bows his head back, “Ah- long time no see, um…”

 

“Kuroko Tetsuya,” Kuroko says, and cuts in even before Furihata can apologize, “And don’t worry, Furihata-san. It’s not unusual to not remember.”

 

“Eh? Kurokocchi, you met Akashicchi’s boyfriend before as well?” Kise pipes in, looking as devastatingly sparkly as always.

 

“See, I knew they would fuck,” Aomine says, yawning, “Called it. Told ya, Kise. Did we bet on it? You can buy me lunch if we did.”

 

“Uh, Aominecchi, you always make me buy lunch for us anyway.”

 

“You’re a model _._ ” Aomine shrugs, “You smile and pose half-naked and people throw money at you. At least have the decency to share, Kise, damn.”

 

That sounds more like a stripper than a model, Furihata thinks.

 

“Aomine-kun makes it sound like Kise-kun is a hooker,” Kuroko says.

 

Kise gasps, “I am _not_ a hooker!”

 

Aomine smirks, “Heh, I think you meant stripper, Tetsu.”

 

“Oh,” Kuroko says, “Sorry, Kise-kun. My mistake.”

 

“I’m not a stripper either! Kurokocchi!” Kise pouts.

 

“I know your pouting works on a lot of people, Kise-kun, but I am not one of those people.” Kuroko says, flatly.

 

Aomine leers, “Works on me when he wants the-”

 

“Ew, Dai-chan, don’t be gross,” says a girl Furihata has never met before. She has long pink hair that swishes in the wind as she turns around and- _whoa_ , those are some real big- “Oh sorry, we haven’t been introduced! I’m Momoi, nice to meet you, Furihata-san. I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

 

 _Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down…_ Furihata clears his throat, “Nice to meet you too, Momoi-san.”

 

“See, Satsuki, he’s surprisingly normal-looking, right?” Aomine nudges her.

 

“Dai-chan, he’s standing right there!” Momoi whisper-yells at him.

 

“Ooh, what are we whispering about?” Kise joins in.

 

“Akashi’s nanny-turned-boyfriend,” Aomine says. “Man, Akashi has some weird tastes.”

 

“Says Aomine-kun, who will stick it in anything with decent boobs.” Kuroko says, not even bothering to whisper.

 

“Hey, Kise doesn’t have boobs and I stick it in him just fine!” Aomine proclaims loudly.

 

“Aominecchi! Shhh!” Kise tries to hush him.

 

Furihata really wants to tell them that he can hear their entire conversation well and clear, thank you very much, but that just seems like it’ll bring unnecessary attention to himself.

 

“Oi.” Someone is poking him in the back with a… maiubo candy?

 

Furihata turns and finds himself accosted with a man with purple hair who is at _least_ two metres tall, Furihata is sure, and it would be absolutely terrifying if not for the fact that this man is carry a mountain of candy. And staring down at him. And frowning. Actually, no, Furihata decides that he is still pretty damn terrified.

 

_Where on earth is Sei-kun and why has he left me to deal with all his strange friends? The ceremony must’ve ended a while ago…_

 

“Um, you are Murasakibara-kun, right?” Furihata tries. He can’t be wrong, surely, there are only so many freakishly tall Japanese boys with purple hair hanging about.

 

“Yeah,” Murasakibara says, sucking on a lollipop as he eyes him up and down. “And you’re Aka-chin’s puppy.”

 

“Pup-” Furihata is bewildered, “Wha?”

 

He’s only just recently come to terms with the word ‘boyfriend’ – he much prefers ‘lover’ or even ‘partner’ – and now Akashi is calling him a _what?_

 

It is that moment that Akashi Seijuuro decides to grace them all with his presence.

 

And damn, Furihata will save the whole ‘puppy’ deal for later because, goddamn, Akashi is looking handsome and immaculate as all hell in his full uniform.

 

“Atsushi. Ryouta. Daiki. Satsuki. Tetsuya.” Akashi addresses them one by one with a nod, and then, he turns to Furihata and his eyes soften around the edges. “…Kouki.”

 

Furihata’s heart still races every time Akashi looks at him like this. There’s no way he’s ever getting used to it. He walks up to him, smiling warmly, “Congratulations on your graduation, Sei.”

 

Akashi smiles, subtly touching his index finger to Furihata’s little finger, “Thank you, Kouki.”

 

And it still burns, still electric, even now, every time they touch – it’s especially worse after they haven’t seen each other for a while. But that at least will not be a thing for much longer. Akashi is moving to Tokyo for university, and that means they’ll be seeing each other that much more. It makes Furihata giddy, his stomach fluttering with butterflies. He can’t wait.

 

“Is it just me, or does Akashicchi and Furihata-san over there look like they have roses blooming in the background?” Kise stage-whispers.

 

Momoi sighs, dreamily, “Nah, there’s definitely a pink aura all around them.”

 

“Shall we interrupt? I mean, we’re all here to congratulate him too, right? And then we can all go?” Aomine says, sounding bored.

 

“Aomine-kun, please read the atmosphere,” Kuroko says.

 

“Aka-chin looks at him the way I look at chocolate-covered chips.” Murasakibara observes.

 

“That- is strangely accurate, Mura-chin,” Momoi says.

 

Aomine frowns, “You mean like he wants to eat him? I mean, I get it, like, if Kise wears lacy panties then I’d definitely-”

 

“That is your boyfriend, Kise-kun,” Kuroko says, with no small amount of judgment.

 

“Oh shut it, Kurokocchi, your boyfriend is just as dumb.” Kise says, sticking out his tongue.

 

“Kagami-kun is exponentially much less of a pervert.”

 

Kise shrugs, blushing, “Eh. Well. It has its benefits.”

 

Kuroko winces. “I take it back. Kise-kun you are just as gross as Aomine-kun and you both are much worse than Akashi-kun, which is saying a lot because Akashi-kun is dating a man who is at least three different fetishes in one person if you really squint.”

 

Furihata is spluttering. _Three_ fetishes? Really?

 

Akashi looks amused, “They do know we can hear them, yes?”

 

“You have weird friends,” Furihata says, not for the first time. Then, since they are on the topic, “Sei, why does Murasakibara call me your ‘puppy’?”

 

“Ah that,” Akashi nods, far too casually. “It’s Shintarou’s fault. He and his boyfriend apparently think you’re like a Chihuahua.”

 

“A _Chihuahua._ ” Furihata repeats incredulously. “Your best friend thinks I look like a dog.” He doesn’t know whether he should be offended. It’s offensive, right? But Chihuahuas _are_ pretty cute.

 

“Not look like,” Akashi corrects, “Behave like.”

 

“How is that any better?!” Furihata huffs.

 

“It’s because you’re adorable,” Akashi says, easily. “Where is Shintarou, anyway?”

 

Furihata refuses to blush from that compliment. Akashi is changing the subject and it’s working, damn it. Furihata points, “Over there with Takao-kun. They’re having words, because Takao-kun was too overly enthusiastic about our sex life.”

 

“Our sex life.” Akashi parrots, blinking owlishly. “Not theirs?”

 

“Yes. Ours. Me and you.”

 

“Huh.” Akashi says. Then, after a pause, he frowns, “…is Shintarou carrying a penis plushie?”

 

Furihata gasps, “Right? That’s what I thought! He said it’s a squid but it’s totally a dick!”

 

Akashi shakes his head, “Shintarou is an idiot. That is definitely male genitalia and not a squid.”

 

Furihata nods, “Yes. Thank you. This is why I love you, Sei.”

 

Akashi side-eyes him, “You love me because I can identify penis plushies?”

 

“Uh. Amongst other things.” Furihata was planning to go with the whole ‘it’s how we see things the same way’ corny business, but sure. Why not.

 

Akashi tilts his head, a quirk to his lips, “If it means you love me, Kouki, I’ll take it.”

 

Gah, Akashi just has to make it cute. Now Furihata will never be able to see penis plushies the same way again, and it’s all Akashi’s fault. Not that Furihata is complaining. He’s the happiest he’s ever been in these past three months. It’s still early days, but Furihata is already starting to not be able to imagine being without Akashi. It’s so easy between them, like it hasn’t been with anyone else, and Furihata has laughed and smiled more than he’s ever done – and Akashi has, too, those precious rare smiles of his no longer a rarity for Furihata, and he loves it.

 

And, yes, of course, there are still some concerns. Furihata’s job security if people find out, Furihata’s parents expecting him to marry, their vast difference in status, Akashi’s father – who Furihata is pretty sure he made eye contact with today as he passed by on his highly expensive car right after the graduation ceremony ended – yes, there’s a lot to think about, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. But it’s still early days, and Furihata just wants to enjoy it whilst he can. When the time comes, Akashi and himself will figure it out. They’ll find a way. Together. Because he’s promised himself, ever since he looked into Akashi’s wide eyes that first morning together as lovers, that he will never be the one to leave this man again. And if their history is anything to go by, they’ll make it. Eventually, everything will be alright.

“By the way, Kouki, when am I meeting your friends again?” Akashi asks. “You said it would be soon. When I move to Tokyo?”

 

“When Izuki-senpai stops calling you my ‘boy toy’ and stops making puns relating to our relationship,” Furihata says, grimacing. “Which doesn’t seem to be happening anytime soon.”

 

“And you say I have weird friends,” Akashi grins.

 

“They _are_ weird and you know it. All of them. Just when I think they’re normal, they turn out not to be. Even the Rakuzan ones.” And don’t even get him _started_ on freaking _Mibuchi Reo_ because, no, Furihata is _not over that_. He is possessive, and he doesn’t like it when a tall, pretty boy drapes himself all over _his_ boyfriend and kisses him on the cheek like it’s _that_ _casual._ No. Furihata is putting his foot down on that one – it doesn’t help that Akashi finds it adorable when Furihata gets jealous, either.

 

“They’re not that bad.”

 

“Your best friend is carrying a doll which looks like a penis.” Furihata points. “ _Why._ ”

 

“It’s his lucky item.”

 

“Sei,” Furihata stares at him. Pointedly.

 

“Point taken, Kouki,” Akashi admits.

 

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd finally they get there! Thank you so much to everyone who’s been on this long, long journey with this slow burn AkaFuri (and all their weird and wonderful friends). I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it just as much as I had fun writing it! I will confess I didn’t even ship AkaFuri at first (because I kinda liked Akashi as an uke, oops…) but then some fantastical RP happened and then this whole fic idea was born, so a lot of this is all thanks to that wonderful person (you know who you are, Aka-sama <3), and a lot of it is down to you guys supporting me and keeping me going! Thank you so much again!
> 
> The title of this chapter “I Knew I Loved You” is a song by Savage Garden which inspired a lot of moments in this fic (especially the final confession scene) – recommended to be playing in the background for that entire fluffy bit ;)
> 
> Ps. My next fic is likely going to be for Haikyuu, so if you’re in love with the volleyball babies like I am (as everyone should be), then keep an eye out!
> 
> EDIT: so, whoops, I actually fell in love with a Yuri on Ice idea for a fic instead. If you're interested, my newest YoI fic is called "The Ice-Lanced Heart" :) x


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